The After You
by elleuu2Y5
Summary: "Dammit, Dean…" Sam cried, "come back to me you bastard, this… is… not… how… you… die…" leaning down again, Sam took a deep breath to transfer to Dean's lungs, hopefully keeping him alive... (Chp 11)
1. Chapter 1

_**This is the third story in the Hope series, for Supernatural...**_

 _ **The first was "Hymn to the Missing", which was followed by "God's Gift of Hope"**_

 _ **You probably should read them before reading this - as they set the scene... but if not - then I'm sure you'll catch on...**_

 _ **Please comment and let me know if you like it... also follow it - if you want alerts so you can read along as I post the rest of it over the summer (an Australian summer - that's winter to you northern hemisphereans)**_

 _ **Enjoy... I hope...**_

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 _ **Then**_ …

The stolen 1971 Imperial LeBaron nearly spun out, as it sped down the highway, fishtailing around a tight bend and almost smashing into a smaller car, which was travelling in the opposite direction. The nineteen-year-old, sitting behind the wheel, cursed lightly as he almost lost control, but he was too scared to worry about the people in the other car.

The car continued barrelling down the highway until the next bend, where it passed a black Impala that was sitting on the side of the road. The boy pulled hard on the steering wheel, taking the LeBaron into a very tight one-eighty turn; the tyres and brakes screamed under the strain of the speeding chunk of metal, stopping and turning on a dime. Small rocks and dust flew through the air, pelting the neighbouring bushland, as the car pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road; the LeBaron was now about twenty feet from the Impala, in a face off.

Before the LeBaron had pulled to a complete stop, the passenger side door flung open, and a smaller, younger boy leapt out and started sprinting back towards the Impala.

This boy circled the car, looking in through each of the windows in turn, as he came full circle he yelled at the other boy, "Nothing… He's not here!"

The other boy, at hearing the cry, turned quickly to the bushland that came up to the shoulder of the road, and started beating at it with his hands; the boy was looking for something, as he pushed, swiped and shoved at the low hanging branches.

"Here!" he yelled back at the other boy, who was doing something similar a few feet from the Impala, "The path is here…" With those last few words, the boy started running down the path, followed closely by the younger boy.

The two boys ran as if their lives depended on it. They were fast and nimble as they stole their way down that path. They placed their feet surely, like seasoned cross-country runners, easily missing the gnarled roots that spouted out of the ground, from the older trees that littered the length of the path. Their arms pumped in time with their heavy breathing. Small patches of sweat broke out on their brows, as the continued to pace their way down the overgrown path.

About half a mile down the path, the area opened up into a small overgrown yard that wrapped around an old house that looked in serious need of repair. The older boy called out, through heavy breathes, "Stay behind me Sammy!" as he scaled the four steps that lead up to the porch.

Here the older boy paused, as he drew a gun from the small of his back. The younger boy's eyes went wide at the sight of the revolver, but he quietly fell in behind his brother. Quietly the boy turned the handle of the door and slowly pushed it into the room. The door let out a soft sigh, signalling anyone, who was close enough to hear, that visitors had arrived.

The older boy cleared the front room with his gun, checking for danger with every turn; he was hyperaware of his younger brother, trying to ensure that he was safe at all times. The pair moved quickly, but ever so quietly, towards the centre of the house where the kitchen sat, tucked away from prying eyes.

Near the door to the pantry, stood another door, slightly wider, higher and much heavier. Eight door latches lined the side of the door and all of them lay open and unlocked. The door itself stood slightly ajar; the light from the kitchen window spilt through the small crack, between the open door and wall, and showered the top two steps in a pool of light. The stairs led down into a darkness; a darkness that whispered to the boys, 'enter, at your peril'.

The door opened back into the kitchen silently, as the younger boy pulled gently on its handle. The older boy led the way into the small space at the top of the stairs, where he paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Taking a very slow and deep breath, he eventually started down the stairs, gun ready, followed closely by his brother.

The boys moved very slowly down the stairs, not wanting to make a sound that may alert anyone to their presence. At the bottom of the staircase, the room seemed to brighten before them, as light from the outside tried to push its way through the grime-covered basement window. The boys turned to their left, entering the far side of the room; a sheet that hung over a trail of rope blocked their view. The rope hung across the length of the room, from the wall to the rail of the stairs.

The older boy approached the sheet and using the gun, he pushed on it, so that he could see beyond. As the scene revealed before him, he took in a quick breath trying desperately to conceal the panic that was fighting to take control of his body.

A man hung from the rafters; a thick rope held the man's arms above his head, while his bare feet barely touched the ground below. The man had no shirt on, and a trail of blood snaked its way down the man's bare chest, as it fell from a deep cut on his throat. A man like figure, covered in tattoos, stood beside the hanging man and he appeared to be drinking the blood of his semi-conscious victim.

The boy raised his gun to shoot, but realised, just as quickly, that at this distance and with how close the hanging man was to 'the thing', he was just as likely to harm the man as he was the creature that had taken him hostage.

Instead, the boy made the quick decision to run at the creature. He took off quickly before the creature had time to realise that there was somebody else in the room. The boy hit the creature square in the side and with some force; he drove him away from the hanging man as he attempted to tackle him to the ground. The creature, however, was too strong for the boy and he merely swung his arm around and caught the boy on the chin. The force of the blow lifted him into the air and he flew backwards, smashing into the far wall of the basement.

The creature started to walk over towards where the boy lay at the bottom of the wall, most likely to finish him off. The younger boy, scared by all that was happening, decided that he had to take action to save his brother. He bolted at the creature, barrelling into its back and knocking him off balance. The older boy saw what was happening and jumped up, running at the creature to take advantage of its weakened position.

The creature fell to the ground with a grunt, as the older boy smacked into his front; seeing the creature fall, he spun around looking for the revolver that he had dropped during the first run at the creature. He eyed the gun; it was not far from the other boy, "Sammy…" he yelled at his brother, "the gun… get the gun…"

Sam made a grab for the gun, just as the creature was getting to its feet. Unfortunately, for Sam, the creature stood up and was standing directly in front of him. Sam thought quickly and realised that he would not make it to the gun before the creature got to him, taking a chance, he kicked the gun towards his brother. The creature lunged forward making to attack him, as the gun slid along the ground into his brothers waiting hand.

Just as the creature reached Sam, the gun rang out, the noise sharp and clear in the small basement. The creature screamed as the bullet slammed into its back, just missing the spine. It stopped, mid-attack, and turned, its eyes were wild with pain and anger. For a split second, it looked like the creature was trying to decide whether it wanted to go after the older boy or whether it would take off; then the creature spun and ran for the stairs.

"Sammy, get dad!" the older boy yelled at his brother as he ran for the stairs in pursuit of the creature that had taken his dad. "Dean…" the younger boy yelled after his brother; whether he was yelling to his brother to tell him that he would take care of their dad, or yelling at him to stop and stay here, was unclear. Either way, Dean ignored him, taking the stairs two at a time.

Sam made his way over to his dad. He pulled a pocketknife out and, trying to support the weight of his father, he started to hack into the rope that held him up. While he was cutting, his father floated in and out of consciousness, moaning in pain each time his body swayed with the movement of the rope.

Eventually, the rope broke, giving way where it was frayed from Sam's efforts and the weight of the man pulling on it. The man fell to the ground, taking Sam down with him. Sam was quick to recover and he carefully took off his jacket and rolled it up to put under his father's head. Just as he was about to get up to look around the room for some water, to clean up his father's wounds, his father came too and grabbed hold of his arm.

Sam winced in pain, as his father's vice-like grip nearly pulled his arm off. "Sammy…" his father wheezed, "We have to find hope…" Sam was confused by his father's statement. He tried unsuccessfully to calm his father and wrench his arm back so that he could help him. John Winchester just grew more and more agitated, crying to his son that they must find hope. "Remember hope, Sammy. Don't let me forget. Don't let me forget…"

John's eyes were wild with panic, as he fought to hold on to the memory of the Djinn's reality-altering hallucinations that he had been so firmly entrenched in only moments before… Moments before John was rudely dragged back to the dark and frightening reality. A reality where he had been forced to forget his only daughter, his son's twin. A reality where he didn't know he had a daughter, where he hadn't been reunited with her.

The Djinn that had caught John Winchester had looked deep into his mind, only to find that two people whom John didn't seem to know, but who had come to help him, had altered his mind once before. Working with what he had been able to find out; these two people had made John forget that he had a daughter. The Djinn spun his special magic to have John remember that his daughter had come looking for him when she had turned eighteen. The pair, united, at last, had lived a very happy existence with John's other two children, Dean and Sam.

When John was dragged unwillingly from this alternate reality, back to the dingy basement floor he wanted more than anything to return to the quiet unassuming life he had finally been able to make with his children. Realising that this would never happen, he needed the next best thing; John Winchester needed to remember what had happened in an alternate reality and as such, he begged his son, Sam, to remind him about it when he came too. Just before he passed out, John asked one more time, "Sammy, remember hope. Don't let me lose hope." Sam just stared at his father.

 _ **Now**_

Sam looked down at his sister lying on the floor in front of Dean. Blood had flowed out from her wound, making wing like patterns around her upper body. All he could think was, 'Hope was lost… Hope was lost.'

Sam fell to his knees, remembering, then he whispered, "Oh my god, Hope, I forgot… I'm so sorry… I forgot…"

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 _ **more to come - stay tuned... and please feel free to leave comments - the more the better**_


	2. Chapter 2

play... Dean Winchester || So Cold... on youtube... (my inspiration... for Chapter 2)

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Jody stood silently, watching the scene before her. She had absolutely no idea what was happening; one minute her and the Winchesters had been hunting vampires. Then just as they thought, they had them all, it turned out that they had indeed been in a trap. A very elaborate trap, and not a trap for Jody, but a trap for the boys. The last vamp, the one that Jody herself had killed, had known the boy's names. He had been waiting for them and he was supposed to kill them.

Instead, Jody had shot Sam and killed the vampire; but something had gone terribly wrong in the meantime. A girl was lying in front of Dean; surrounded by blood, she was clearly dead. The boys were distraught with grief for this girl, that much was clear to Jody, but she had no idea who this girl was or how she had gotten there.

Jody thought back over what had happened. The vampire had Sam by the throat, a gun to his head. He had been walking towards Dean, who stood alone in the aisle of the warehouse. Sam had noticed Jody, she was sure of that. Dean had offered up his life, for his brothers. Sam had tried to fight. Dean was still standing alone when Jody fired at Sam. Sam had gone down hard on his injured leg, but the vampire had managed to throw him and fire his gun. It all happened so fast, but Jody was sure that Dean had still been alone when the gun had gone off; seconds, before she cut the vampires, head off. Yet… How was it that this girl had taken the bullet that was meant for Dean? And, more importantly, where had she come from?

"Dean…" the quiet voice came from Jody's left; as she turned to see who it belonged to a guttural roar came from her right, "YOU…" A raging Dean nearly collected Jody as he took flight, aiming right for the man in the trench coat. "You…" he yelled again as he ran, "You brought her here… You. Did. This." On the last word, Dean made contact with the man. Smashing him to the ground. Dean wrestled with the man until he was on top and with his right arm free; he started smashing the man's face, repeatedly. "She. Is. Dead. Because. Of. You…" each word came out fierce and deep; stone cold, no emotion, emphasised by another punch to the man's face.

"Dean…" It was Sam yelling; Jody just stood there, in shock at this turn of events. Sam had made his way over to his brother, but the pain and effort this small trip took, was written all over his face, walking on his bullet-ridden leg. "Dean…" Sam yelled again in an effort to break through to his brother and stop this mindless beating, but Dean was not coming back from this so easily. All that he could see was his dead sister and the reason she was dead, was lying on the ground in front of him. Ripe for the punishment he was ready to deal out.

Sam caught Dean's arm, as it swung back ready to have yet another go at the now unrecognisable Castiel, who lay bruised and battered on the cold concrete floor. "Don't…" came the strangled cry from Sam's throat. Dean dropped his arm suddenly, taking Sam's balance with it and as he toppled forward, Dean rocked back up onto his feet and spun suddenly to his right. Twisting his arm around so that Sam, who was still holding onto Dean's wrist, fell faster towards him, and Dean, using the momentum of the turn and Sam's slight resistance managed to pull himself up. As he rose, Dean pushed out with both arms pushing Sam so that he flew through the air away from where Dean stood. Sam smashed to the floor, a couple of meters from his brother, as he grunted in pain he pleaded again with Dean, "Don't…" was all he managed before the pain was too much for his body to bear. He unfolded then and his head rolled to the side as he lost consciousness.

The sight of Sam lying there on the floor bought Jody back to her senses and she finally moved from where she had been standing. She started towards Sam but then froze again as she saw Dean moving towards her. As Jody watched, Dean walked past her and made his way back to the girl, who was lying several meters away, down the aisle. When he reached her, he fell to his knees beside her and then he started rocking back and forth in a slow rhythmic way, which scared Jody. The strong and unbreakable Dean was crumbling before her very eyes. 'Who was this girl?' she thought again as she watched Dean, unsure what to do; comfort him, help Sam or, help the man in the trench coat?

As she stood, unable to choose, Jody saw a movement to her left. The man in the coat had risen and made his way over to Sam. Sam groaned as the pain rushed back, into his waking reality; first, the physical pain, at having been shot, and then smashed into the ground by his brother. The emotional pain followed this quickly, as the memories, of why he had a bullet wound, and exactly what was tearing at his brother, came flooding back in.

"Sam…" Sam moved his head back, instantly regretting this tiny movement as more pain arced out from his neck and radiated down his spine. Sam grimaced, breathing in shallow gasps as he tried to stay conscious. Slowly he reopened his eyes and tried to focus on where the voice was coming from. As Sam blinked his eyes, the face, which was now totally clean and free from any evidence that it had just been beaten, came into focus, "Cass?" he asked, remembering Dean's violent outburst and subsequent beat down at hearing that voice. As Sam focused in on the face in front of him, he saw two fingers advancing towards his own face, "No… Don't…" came his strangled cry as he frantically tried to get up.

"Sam… You are hurt. Let me help you?" Castiel looked confused as Sam continued to struggle to sit up and move away from him. "You don't want me to help. You think I did this, don't you?" Castiel's realisation stopped him and his arm dropped slowly to his side, he straightened up as he continued, "Sam. I didn't bring her here."

"Cass, I…" Sam was struggling to stand now, as he spoke, but he stopped suddenly as the pain overwhelmed him again. Jody ran forward, seeing the strain on Sam's face. "Sam. Don't move you're too hurt." Jody warned him, but Sam just shook his head and continued to stand as Jody helped him. Once up, Sam turned to Cass to speak, but Jody beat him to it, "What's happening Sam? Who is that girl? How did she get here? Why is she…" Sam cut her off. "Jody, you should go."

"Go! You want me to go. Go where Sam? I can't leave you… I won't, not now. You are hurt. There is a dead girl over there. Dead because of me…" Jody's voice broke as her anxiety levels rose; she blamed herself entirely for the death of the girl. If it had not been for her, calling Sam and Dean in to help, that girl would still be alive right now and the boy's lives would not be crumbling around them. Jody asked the question, again, "Who is she, Sam? Who did I kill?"

"Jody!" Sam turned to Jody and held her tightly by the shoulders, forcing her to turn away from the scene she was looking at. Dean slowly rocking back and forth in front of the dead girl. "You didn't do this, Jody. This is not your fault!" Jody shook her head vigorously, "It is, Sam. It is! I called you and Dean. I made you come here and now that girl is dead because of me, because of me." Jody's voice rose in pitch as she cried this out to Sam. Sam moved his hands up and cupped Jody's head to stop her from shaking it and force her to look at him. "Jody, this is not your fault! You need to go. To be with Alex and Claire, not here." Sam looked meaningfully at Castiel; he meant Castiel to zap her away. As Jody started to argue with Sam, Castiel moved towards her and raising two fingers he touched her on the forehead and she was gone.

"Where did you send her?" Sam asked.

"To her home."

"Cass, she has two daughters, they are here somewhere, in Wichita." Just as Sam finished speaking, Castiel disappeared. Sam turned slowly, his shoulders drooping under the sheer exhaustion, pain and the memory of seeing Hope lying there, dead. He did not want to see it again, but he forced his head up as he turned and saw Dean kneeling before their sister. Sam started walking towards his siblings, a heavy heart weighing him down. As he arrived by their side, Castiel reappeared.

"I sent them home too."

"Get. Away. From. Here." came the growl of Dean's voice as he stopped rocking and slowly raised his head to stare at Castiel. "You. Did. This." Dean's eyes narrowed in with the pure hatred and anger he was feeling, and his brow furrowed. This, coupled with the ugly tone of his voice, made Castiel take a step backwards, away from Dean.

"Dean, I…" Castiel stumbled, "I didn't bring her here…"

"No. Then how did she get here Castiel? How is it, that one second I am about to take a bullet and the next, she is standing there in front of me, taking it for…" Dean faltered, as the pain, he felt rose up in his chest choking him.

"Dean… I didn't bring her here."

"Cass…" It was Sam speaking now as he tried to understand what had happened while making sure his brother did not fly into another rage. "How else could she have got here? Like that? One second not here and the next…" Sam sighed, shaking his head; he wanted to understand, but at the same time, he just wanted to break down and let somebody else try to work it out. He was done now; all he wanted was to grieve in peace. "Sam. She was talking to me and then she was gone… I tried… I tried to stop her but she was so fast… I could barely… I could… Barely follow… I…" Castiel was breaking down now, shaken by his own memories and the sight of his charge lying dead before him.

"You tried! To stop her!" roared Dean, "You did this. There is no way she could have gotten here… not like that… not by herself. You're the angel, Castiel. You are!" Dean was breathing hard, the anger building up inside him, as he tried to take control of himself.

"Cass… Tell us what happened." Sam begged.

"I didn't bring her… here…" Castiel reiterated before he began his story.

 _ **Half an Hour Ago**_

"Will you stop pacing? It is… Well, I don't know what it is, but you should stop."

Hope stopped pacing at Castiel's request; she looked up at him, desperation crowding her eyes, "Cass… The boys are in danger. We need to go to them. To help them."

"I know you think they are in danger Hope, but Sam and Dean are hunters, they have this under control. You need to sit down and rest; you are not fully healed yet." As he spoke, Castiel moved towards Hope, "Here, let me try again to…" but before Castiel could finish his sentence, Hope swatted away his approaching fingers and blurted, "No! Castiel, the boys are in danger. Why won't you take me to them?"

Castiel stopped short, shaking his head, a deep sadness reaching his eyes. "Hope. They would kill me if I took you to them. You are hurt. They have this… I promise…" Castiel watched as Hope's shoulders drooped and she let out a long breath. She turned away from him and started her slow and unsteady pacing again. Castiel hoped that the boys would be quick, on this hunt, because he was sure that Hope would not rest until they returned.

Castiel and Hope were in the library of the bunker. It had been hours since the boys had left. They had rung Hope, to check in, when they had first met up with Jody Mills in Wichita. From there they were heading to a warehouse, where Jody was sure they would find the vampire's nest. That had been just over an hour ago. They should hear from them soon when the hunt was over, Castiel was sure.

Castiel was standing near the war room, while Hope paced the length of the library. As she passed by her cup of tea, on the second table, Hope absent-mindedly picked it up and took a sip. The tea would have been cold now but Hope did not seem to notice. Castiel slipped back into his mind. Retracing his steps over the past few days, going over the conversations he had had with various demons and angels as he tried to solve the puzzle of Hope's life on the run and the strange events that had occurred with the terrible slaying of several humans across the states. Castiel was no closer to finding anything out about Hope, but he had some information about what might be happening on the other front. He had finally met with an angel called Jehoel; the angel over fire.

An associate of Michaels, Jehoel believed that the strange shimmering, which was followed by humans slaughtering each other, was the result of somebody trying to tamper with the Veil. Both Jehoel and Castiel had no idea why someone would want to do this; nor did they understand why it had that effect on the humans, who just happened to be nearby when the veil faltered here on earth. Castiel was yet to tell Dean and Sam of this new information, as they had been rather preoccupied with the sudden appearance of the secret room and Hope's injuries that she sustained when…

A sharp smashing sound echoed around the library as the porcelain cup Hope had been holding hit the ground, smashing into many small pieces. Castiel ran the length of library and reaching for Hope, he pulled her into his embrace. She was shaking violently and crying, "He has Sam. He has Sam. You must take me there Castiel. Take me to them. They need our help!" Castiel held Hope out so that he could look into her eyes as she continued to mumble about her brothers. "Hope. Look at me." Castiel begged Hope, but she stared past him as if she was watching a terrifying scene of a movie, on a screen that Castiel could not see. "Hope. Hope…" he called again as he grasped her face in his hands and tried to make her see him.

Suddenly she stopped thrashing about and became completely still and silent. Then, without any warning, she cried out, "He is going to kill Dean! No…" and then she was gone. Castiel's hands collapsed in on the air that was now between them. Flustered he let out a yell, before vanishing himself.

 _ **Now**_

"I tried to stop her. I refused to bring her here… but she… she got here anyway… without me… She flew… I don't know how she did that, but she did. I tried to follow her, but you know… you know that I can't track her – she is warded from me. I followed the movements in the realm, trying to trace her whereabouts, but she moved so fast. Faster than any angel, I have ever followed. I lost her tail twice and had to retrace my flight, which is why she got here before me. Before I could stop…" Castiel paused, taking in a sharp breath, and letting it go as his shoulders dropped lower still, "I tried to stop her…" he conceded, "I tried…"

"How could she fly Castiel? She isn't an angel." Sam asked before Dean, whose eyes were flaring with more anger, could attack. "I don't know. I don't understand it – it isn't possible and yet… she did…" Castiel replied; his eyes pleaded with Sam to believe in him, but he could not bring himself to look at Dean or Hope.

"Why? Why didn't you stop her? Castiel?" Dean whispered, turning his face back to Hope as he began to slowly rock, back and forth, again. Dean felt empty. He was lost, floating at sea, and not on calm seas but on an ocean enraged by a storm. It tossed and threw him about; his emotions swinging in the blink of an eye, from rage to a hurt so deep it felt like he himself had been lost. He wanted to kill. Something. He didn't care what at this point, Castiel would do. He wanted to hold on to this blame, and the rage he felt for the angel at this moment, because the truth was much harder feel. To own. Slowly though the rage lessened and the truth, Dean's truth, started slicing away at his heart. It wasn't Castiel. It had never been Castiel. This… Hope's death… was on him. Dean knew that it was his fault and the anger he wanted to cast on Castiel, was for him and him alone, because Hope was here, in this world, his world, because he had failed her. Dean had failed to let her go. He had allowed her to stay in a world where being his sibling surely meant that she would be hurt. Dean's eyes welled up in response to the terrible guilt that joined his truth in destroying him from the inside.

Silence fell over the warehouse.

Sam stood beside Dean; he was in pain from his injuries and his loss.

Castiel stood at Hope's feet, deep in despair.

One tear fell.

As it fell through the air, it glistened in what little light there was.

It hit Hope's chest exactly where the bullet that had killed her had hit.

As Dean watched, a small white light started to blossom from Hope's chest. At first, it was as small as the tip of a pin, but within seconds, it had grown to the size of a fist and before long, it evolved until it had engulfed Hope's chest. The light because so bright that it burned the boy's eyes. "Close your eyes…" Castiel screamed at the boys and they responded by turning their heads away from Hope. The light continued to grow, swallowing up Dean and then Sam and Castiel before it emanated outwards from Hope and lit up the entire warehouse.

Hope's chest rose up off the ground, while a breath was drawn into her body. As the light hit its peak, her eyes opened suddenly, but focused on nothing, before they slowly closed while the drawn in breath left her body. Her chest falling slowly back to the concrete floor and her head lolling to the side, as the light seemed to bounce and then dissipate outwards, leaving the boys back in the dim light of the warehouse once more. Castiel fell to his knees at Hope's feet. He touched his forehead, mouth and then chest as he whispered two words that Sam could not make out. Sam looked down at Hope; she was breathing. "She's alive…" he cried as he moved to kneel by her side, opposite Dean. Dean's eyes were wide and wild. He shook his head not understanding what he was seeing. Hope was definitely breathing, but…

"No…" he whispered.

"Dean… She is alive. She is breathing, whatever that was – it brought her back." Sam whispered back to Dean, afraid that his voice might somehow destroy what had happened. Castiel remained at Hope's feet, confusion the only emotion he displayed in that moment.

"No… It's not her." Dean's voice moved out of its whisper as he became surer of himself.

"Not her? What…" Sam struggled to find the words; confused by his brother's lack of joy and relief at having Hope back. Not her? What was he saying? "Dean…" he sighed, "Hope's here. She's alive…"

"Sammy, it's not her. Hope is not in… there…" as he spoke, Dean pointed at Hope's body, lying on the ground in front of him, "I can't feel her…" Dean looked up into Sam's eyes, the confusion and pain he saw there shook him; all he wanted to do was take the pain away from him, but to do that was impossible because Hope was dead and nothing was going to bring her back, unless…

Dean rose to his feet and taking one last look at his sister's body he strode off in the direction of the door that would lead him to his car.

"Dean…" yelled Sam, as he scampered to his feet to chase after his brother. Turning towards the door, he screamed out in pain, having forgotten his injured leg, and promptly he started to fall to the ground, but Castiel caught him just in time, "Sam. Let me heal you!" he begged, eager to be of some help to his friend. "No…" Sam cried as he shoved Castiel away. He hobbled after Dean, but with his injury, he was much slower than his brother was and by the time he reached the door to the warehouse, it was too late. Sam pushed the door outwards and stepped through just in time to hear the Impala roar to life. The wheels spun quickly in the gravel and small rocks soared through the air. The Impala tore backwards before making a quick one-eighty and with a slight pause, the wheels spun and screeched as the car took off for the road leaving behind a trail of dust. "Dean…" Sam yelled at the dust… "No…"

Sam slumped against the warehouse door, as he watched his brother leave. He had so many questions; why had he left like that. What the hell, was he doing? Why would he leave Hope? "I don't understand…" he whispered to the night. "He is gone. You are hurt. You are losing a lot of blood; you are about to collapse, you need to let me help you." Castiel spoke again, he was almost demanding that Sam allowed him to help; he did not understand why Sam would not want this too. "No… Cass… Just… No…" Sam managed to breathe the words out, as he turned back into the warehouse. He only made a few steps before he collapsed again; this time Castiel was unable to make it to him before he fell to the ground heavily. "Sam…" Castiel pleaded with Sam as he knelt beside him, "Why? Please… I did not bring her here. Why won't you let me help you?"

"Cass… It's not that. It's just…" Sam sighed, unable to put words to what he was feeling. "You want to suffer?" Castiel looked deeply into Sam's eyes, trying to read what Sam was hiding from him, "You don't think you should be healed. That you deserve that. You think you should be suffering… because Hope is dead?" Castiel offered an explanation. "She's not dead, Cass… You saw her. She is breathing." Sam forced the words out, trying to get through to Castiel; had he not seen what had happened with the light? "No. Sam. Dean was right. Hope is not there." Castiel tried to explain, but Sam cut him off, "She is breathing Castiel. Breathing!" Sam's eyes begged with Castiel to believe him, to tell him that he is right, that Hope is not gone.

"Hope's body is breathing, but I… Hope's soul is not there. I cannot sense it. Neither can Dean. Hope is gone. I do not know why her body has revived itself, but Hope is not there. Dean was right about that." With those words, the last bit of hope, that Sam was clinging on to, ripped apart in his chest and a small scream started deep from within his body. It reverberated through him before coming full voice as he opened his mouth, "No…" Sam slumped into unconsciousness as the blood loss and mental anguish finally took its toll.


	3. Chapter 3

The water flowed freely from the faucet, falling into the grime covered, once white, porcelain sink. A pair of hands gripped the sides of the basin, knuckles white with the pressure of the vice-like grip they held. Slowly, colour returned to the hands as the fingers began to stretch and flex before they released the basin completely and moved into the flow of the water. Cupping together, water quickly filled the well they made and started to flow and ebb over the sides, cascading back into the sink. Eventually, the hands moved upwards to release the water they held across the face of the figure that now bent over the sink. The hands silently glided across the face, wiping the sleep from the tired and bloodshot eyes, before returning to the flowing water to fill the well once more. This time the water splashed across the face before the hands silently went to work, smoothing the four weeks' worth of growth that covered the man's lower face. Once smooth the hands retreated to the sink, searching for more water to splash across that same face before both hands snaked through the brown crop of hair that sat atop his crown.

A noise behind the man had him reaching again for the sides of the basin, his hands clamping down so fiercely that they were white within seconds, "I told you, to stay away…" the man cautioned, his deep voice resonating around the cavernous room in which they stood. There was no reply, just footsteps as the other person descended into the room. Slowly, the man at the basin raised his head and looked into the mirror, which he had been trying to avoid all the while he was washing his face. In the mirror, beyond the reflection of his own tired and pained face, he saw the man in the trench coat pause, seemingly unsure now what to do with himself. The hands on the sink gripped harder still, as the man tried to control the various emotions that were inching their way back out from the darkest recesses of his soul; where he had tried, unsuccessfully, to stow them away.

With a sigh, the man released his grip on the basin and pushing away from it, he spun slowly to face Castiel, "I told you before. I have told you many times now." Shaking his head from side to side, he insisted, "I. Am. Out… Please… leave me alone." Castiel's conviction wavered slightly as he heard, yet again, the weight of the pain and incredible loss that reared its ugly head in those few, short, sentences. "Sam… I… I need you. There has been another two…" Sam stepped forward, straightening up as he did so; his stature and physical strength filled the war room with his presence, yet this was a stark contradiction to the weak, guilt-ridden, lifeless and shattered soul that now hid behind this strong façade. Sam glared at Castiel, stopping him mid-sentence with his slow advance, "I. Don't. Care…" each word, spoken through a grimace; one word for each advancing step, "Leave…" The final word sounded more like a growl and it dripped with a level of animosity Castiel had rarely seen within Sam. Castiel hesitated before he took flight; a myriad of emotions surfacing as one, within his vessel, creating confusion and suffering that threatened to break him.

Castiel landed, reappearing, atop a high cliff that looked out over the northern Pacific Ocean. A strong wind buffeted his hair and his trench coat flapped viciously in response to the relentless barrage of the air, whipped up, as it were, into a frenzy, by the storm that now threatened the coastline. Lightning flashed, arcing out from the clouds towards the swelling surf, and shrieking across the sky as the static electricity looked for a release that it could not find. An ominous, ear-shattering bark accompanied the lighting a mere millisecond after it took flight. Rain plummeted from the sky, each drop elongated and drawn into the shape of a bullet as the wind captured it, altering its vertical path to one more horizontal in nature before smashing it into whatever lay in its path; each drop that drove into Castiel's face felt like hundreds of tiny little razors, slicing open his skin.

Castiel did not care. Drenched through within seconds of arriving, he felt a strange respite here, on this cliffs highest point, as nature fought a fierce battle around him. A calm that he had not felt in weeks descended over him as all that he had felt washed out of him, driven away by the unremitting rain and wind. This storm was a very physical realisation of the inner turmoil that had plagued him after the death of his charge, Hope.

It had been four long weeks since Hope was lost to them. After Sam had collapsed from shock, blood loss and exhaustion, Castiel had healed him and taken him, and Hope's body, back to the bunker. Sam had slept for almost two days before waking, furious and outraged at Castiel for healing him. A bitter argument had ensued. Sam, believing that he deserved to be injured and broken for his part in Hope's death; Castiel, steadfast in his belief that nobody was to blame. It had all been out of their control.

Neither man had heard from Dean.

Dean, who refused to answer any calls and who was not to be located by GPS or any other means that Sam could think of, had not been heard from, or seen, by anyone, in the last four weeks.

In the days that followed Sam's awakening, Castiel and Sam fought many more verbal wars. How to find Dean? If Dean should indeed be found? Whether or not to continue on the hunt for whoever or whatever was causing humans, to savagely, kill each other? What to do with Hope's body? Sam wanted Hope's body removed from the bunker. Castiel believed it should stay. The two had reached an impasse. Hope's soul was gone but the body continued to function. If it was not Hope then why should it be here, was Sam's logic. While Castiel believed wholeheartedly, that there must be more to it. How did the body survive? What had that light been? How did Hope fly to that warehouse?

Sam refused to let Castiel investigate any angle concerning Hope, and, he refused to get back in the game, hunting down the next big bad that endangered the world. Eventually the waring had taken its toll on Sam and he had vehemently requested that Castiel leave; some violence may have been involved.

Castiel sighed, standing there high on the cliff, as he remembered the events that lead to Sam shutting him out. He wished on so many levels that he could take it back and have a do-over, but he knew that he could not. He, Castiel, was no closer to finding out any truths about Hope or the impending doom, but he knew that several more 'veil' tampering events had occurred and thirty-one more souls had been lost. Someone needed to take action, but with the Winchesters lost in their own despair, Castiel had no idea who he could call on.

A minute change in the atmosphere to Castiel's right warned him that he was not alone. He turned suddenly, reaching for his angel's blade, before calming, almost immediately, on seeing Jehoel's face quietly staring back at him. "I sensed your need for consultation." Jehoel explained in response to the quizzical look that Castiel gave him. "I… You…" Castiel sighed heavily, his shoulders stooping, as he struggled with the words to express what he was feeling; he struggled too with giving himself permission to speak of such 'human' feelings with another angel. Sensing Castiel's dilemma Jehoel offered instead some words of wisdom, "It seems to me that you have reached your very own crossroads." Another quizzical look for Castiel gave Jehoel reason to pause; he turned his head to look back over the storm that played havoc over the ocean, before he continued, "Yes Castiel. I have taken an interest in you and your friends. I can see that you fight the good battle here on Earth, even when the Angels all think that you should be more like them. Your love for, and overwhelming desire to help humanity, or more precisely, to help the Winchesters is what makes you so special. You… usually… allow nothing to stand in your way. These recent events have torn through the brother's world and have left you all feeling like there is little reason to go on, but you must Castiel. You must go on. Humanity faces a great threat and you along with the Winchesters must find a way to stop it."

"I understand," came Castiel's reply, "but Dean is unreachable and even though I know where Sam is, I fear he too is unreachable by the likes of me."

Finally turning to look back into Castiel's eyes, Jehoel chose his next words carefully, before vanishing into the wind, "Then, Castiel, I suggest you find someone who can reach them. Maybe… a little divine intervention?"

Standing alone again, in the middle of that violent storm, Castiel reflected on Jehoel's council. Find someone who can reach them. Divine intervention. Was Jehoel talking about God? If he was, then he knew little of the boy's history. Dean would not listen to God; he was still fuming about God's lack of conviction and unwillingness to intervene and help humankind. Although, Castiel believed Dean was more disappointed in God, than he was angry, feeling a certain abandonment that stemmed from his feelings towards his own father. No. Not God. Then who? Whom did Jehoel mean?

Seconds turned into minutes.

Minutes turned into hours.

Castiel wrestled with his own thoughts and feelings as the storm continued to batter the coastline.

When the storm finally broke and one could just glimpse the sun settling on the horizon, Castiel had his answer.

Hope.

The boys would listen to Hope.

The light finally broke through the clearing clouds and bounced off the now empty cliff. Castiel had taken flight again. He had a mission now and nothing was going to stand in his way. As he flew, he went over what he had to do. He smiled as he thought about Dean and Sam, and how this mode of travelling, seemed to happen in an instant for them; but to an Angel, flying was both with and without, time. He could disappear and reappear with nothing but milliseconds between the two and yet to him, it was as if time stood still, during that flight, and he had all the time in the world to conjure up plans or work through complex problems.

When Castiel landed in the garden he had the makings of the plan, and the first part of that plan involved finding Hope. For this, he needed the help from an old friend, Joshua. Castiel walked through the garden; the eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who died in a bathtub in 1953. As he walked, Castiel admired the simplicity and beauty that surrounded him. Again, like on the cliff's top, he felt a certain calm, though this time it was because he finally had a plan and with that, an inkling that things might change soon.

This inkling right now held a great hope, but it should have been much more foreboding.

"You seek an audience with me, Castiel?"

"Joshua. It is good to see you again my friend." Castiel moved towards the angel and the two stood in comfortable silence as each remembered meetings gone by.

"Joshua. I am sorry to rush you, but I am in need of your help." Castiel began; Joshua merely nodded as if he knew exactly what it was that Castiel required. Then, Joshua was gone again, while Castiel waited. He walked the gardens enjoying the feeling of the sun and slight whispering of the wind on his skin.

Time passed slowly, but the day did not change.

Eventually, Joshua returned, a look of astonishment and fear crossing his face. Castiel was instantly alarmed as he begged of his friend, "What is it?" Joshua took several deep breaths trying to control the strange sensation he was feeling. He was not used to feeling without control or knowledge and he felt both now, in spades. "She is not here." This was all he managed to expel before the overwhelming sensation swamped him. Perplexed by this statement, Castiel blurted, "What? What do you mean… she is not here?" Castiel's voice sped up as fear started its slow growth from deep within. "Castiel. I do not know what to say. I have searched. All over, and she is not here. She should be here, but she…" Joshua was lost for words. This sort of thing did not happen. At least, not that he was aware of. "Then… where is she?" Castiel asked to which Joshua simply replied, "I do not know."

Joshua left Castiel then, unable to take any more of what he was feeling, he retreated to where he might feel safe. Castiel, powerless to stop himself, started pacing in the garden. 'This could not be happening.' he thought repeatedly to himself. Hope should be here, but if Joshua could not find her then… Castiel stopped suddenly as he finally realised the only possible reason for Hope's absence in heaven.

She was in Hell.

Castiel saw red.

He should have checked sooner.

Four weeks.

Four weeks, she had been in hell.

How could he have let her down again?

Four weeks…

Suddenly Castiel was flying again, for the first time he wished he did not have the time to think during flight; he wished it were as instant a trip for him as it were for his human friends; as he flew he imagined all that might be happening to Hope. The torture and the pain that was being inflicted upon her and he hated himself more and more with each fleeting image, each horrible thought.

Then he was there again.

In the bunker.

This time he stood at the entrance to Sam's room.

Sam lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, but the change in the light coming from the hallway alerted him to Castiel's presence.

"Go away…" he growled at Castiel.

"No… You must listen to me…" Castiel pleaded with Sam.

Sam jumped up off the bed and stormed across the room, collecting Castiel by his trench coat and thrusting him up against the wall on the other side of the corridor. Castiel smashed into the wall with a loud thud, but he uttered no sound. "I will not listen to you. I have told you, again, and again, that I do not want you here. That I am done. My job here… is done… For God's sake, Castiel…" Sam released Castiel and stepping away from him he continued, "What else do I have to give? What else can I possible sacrifice for you? I have given it all. I have lost my mother, Jess, my father, Ellen, Joe, and countless others. You have my sister and now… possibly even my brother… again… haven't I given enough? Can't you go and find someone else because… because, I have nothing else to give you, Cass, nothing…" Sam sighed and bit down on his lower lip as his eyes closed; Sam's head turned up to the ceiling as he took in a long deep breath, trying to calm down again. As he released the breath his head came back down, his eyes glistening with tears as they opened up and looked over at Castiel, "I'm done…" he repeated in a whisper.

Castiel bit his own lip, his eyes widening.

He could see the pain that surrounded Sam.

Still.

He knew that the knowledge he had, would only cause more pain for Sam.

He wrestled with the catch.

Tell Sam and hurt him further.

Or

Keep the knowledge from him.

He went through both arguments, and things did not become clearer. If anything the more, he thought it through, the more muddied the waters became.

Castiel found himself wishing for his best friend, Dean, for counsel and it was here that he found his answer. Castiel remembered how far Sam went to save Dean. To cure Dean, when he was a demon. Remembering this, Castiel realised that while finding out Hope was in hell would hurt Sam, he would want… No, he would demand, the right, to fight for her. To save her.

"Sam, Hope is not in heaven…"

Sam's eyes lit up with questions, but before he could voice any of them, Castiel continued, his voice stern and commanding, "She's in hell and I need you, to help me save her."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam's eyelids fluttered and twitched in his sleep, as his mind worked through some horror that it perceived to be real; and it was real, real enough to make his heart race and his breathing speed up as the dream took its course. He was lying awkwardly, on the floor of the library, near the doorway to the secret room. His head resting on a pile of books, his body had finally succumbed to exhaustion and his mind had shut it down, demanding some rest. However, with his nightmares so vivid and distressing, it did not look like his body, or his mind was going to be resting very well.

Another pile of books stood, stacked cautiously, just in front of Sam's face and his hands held a rather large tome that he had been reading before the mind ordered sabbatical. Over the last three days, Sam had been researching the quandary they now faced. How to save Hope from hell? When Dean had been in hell, Castiel had rescued him; of course, Castiel knew where Dean was, in the depths of hell, and he had a team of angels to back him up. Many of whom were lost in the ensuing battles. When Sam had been there, Castiel had tried again, with less back up this time, to pull him out of the cage; but that mission had failed terribly with Sam's soul left behind to endure a year of torture at the hands of Michael and Lucifer. The issue this time was twofold; one, Castiel did not know where Hope was, having failed repeatedly to locate her and two, there was no angelic swat team this time. Sam, therefore, was busy researching how to find Hope and how they may succeed in getting her out. Castiel having already exhausted the other option of walking in hells backdoor through the purgatory portal; no reapers were willing to take them there and, at any rate, they thought that Crowley had shut it down, after Sam's last trip through on his way to retrieve Bobby.

Suddenly, without warning, the tome that Sam had been holding fell from his hands; the slapping noise it made when it hit the floor of the bunker echoed around the room, rousing Sam from his sketchy sleep. He moaned and grimaced before opening his eyes slowly, only to close them abruptly when he found the light too bright.

"Love what you've done with the place."

Sam's eyes flew open again, as he turned his head in the direction of that voice, but all he could see was the pile of books stacked in front of him, "Dean?" he queried. The room was quiet, had he imagined the voice, the statement. Perhaps it was simply a remnant of his latest dream. Slowly, Sam staggered to his feet and as his eyes adjusted to the light; his brother's face came into focus, standing not three metres away from him. "Dean… It is you… So… What? Are you back?"

"Looks like…"

"For good?"

"If you'll have me."

Sam did not hesitate, he covered the three metres with three giant steps and grabbing the arm Dean had extended towards him, he pulled his brother in, embracing him, clapping him on the back, the smile on his face reaching from ear to ear. As the bear hug broke up, Sam stood back and looked his brother over, "Where the hell have you been, man?" Dean shook his head once and with a small smile, he let out a sigh. Undeterred by Dean's silence, Sam rushed on, "Hell, I thought you must have gone to a crossroads, to summon a demon and sell your soul to bring her back." This was Sam, confessing his greatest fear; the fear that Dean would try to save Hope the same way he had saved Sam all those years ago. "Yeah, well… I did" came the quietly spoken response.

"Well… what happened?" Sam asked cautiously, "They wouldn't play ball?"

"Nah man… I could not go through with it… I didn't summon the demon."

"Why not?"

"Because… I remembered… I remembered what it did to you. How you felt – when I did that to you… and, I could not go through with it… I could not do that, not to her. I guess you could say I finally learnt something from the past."

"And then what – where have you been all this time? You don't write… you don't call…" Unusual for Sam, he was trying to alleviate the heaviness that had descended over the room. He was afraid that Dean might walk again, if he somehow upset him, or pushed him too hard for information.

"When I decided I couldn't go through with it – I broke. Went on a two-week bender…" Dean's eyes glazed over as he recalled what little he could of this time, "I don't remember much… Drinking and… well… more drinking… Waking up in the gutter, more than once, bruised and bloody. I hated on everyone and everything. Looked for trouble. I wanted someone to punish me…" Sam inhaled sharply at Dean's last comment, but the look in Dean's eyes made him hold his tongue. "At some point, my body just decided it had had enough and I guess I collapsed, woke up three days later in a small hospital in the middle of nowhere… A John Doe… I got the hell out of dodge; took me half a day to find baby… and then, there I was, stone cold sober and finally forced to feel, rather than react to, what had happened…"

Dean walked over to an upturned chair and righted it. He carried it over to the table, which was also on its side and made to flip it over. Sam, realising what he was doing, moved over to help him. Together, they turned the table the right way up and put it back in its original position, in the library; Dean retrieved the chair and tucked it neatly into place. The library was still in a state of disarray, after the explosion that had occurred when Hope opened the doorway to the secret room. The boys had gone to the warehouse shortly after that, to help Jody, nobody had taken the time to clean up. "What about you? Did you just take some time out to grow that fuzz?" Dean asked his brother, referring to the beard Sam now sported. "Forget to pay the cleaner?" he added, gesturing to the mess that still lay around them.

A cocky smile, brushed across Sam's lips as he scoffed at his brother's remarks, shaking his head in mock disbelief, "Jerk."

"Bitch."

The pair shared a smile before they set about fixing up the chairs around the table. Once he had the last chair in, Dean sat down. Sam followed suit. "Castiel brought me back here, healed me up and waited. I was an ass. I refused to talk to him, to do anything really. He kept pushing me to continue the research into the strange murder-suicides we were working before…" Sam's voice faltered as he tried to say, before Hope was killed, "Well, you know… I just could not do it though. I did not want to. I was angry and just stormed off every time Cass tried to tell me something or ask me to keep on keeping on…" Sam sighed remembering how badly he had treated Castiel and the arguments the two had had, "I did do some hunting though…"

"Oh yeah, what?"

"Vampires…" Sam paused, waiting to see if Dean would have a comment, when he did not say anything Sam continued, "I went after anything that even looked like vampires, trying to find out anything about the one that trapped us…"

"And?"

"Nothing… I took out a couple of nests, hunted another one unsuccessfully, but nobody knew anything, and I am sure they were telling the truth by the time I got through with them. Then, Cass turns up five days ago, trying again to make me see reason; there was another murder-suicide, with sixteen dead and he wanted my help. Couple that with the event that happened a few weeks before that, we are looking at upwards of fifty people killed the same way now. I still could not face it though and I sent Cass away. He decided to find someone who would convince me that I needed to get back in the game. Someone who would be able to find you, and get through to you… Hope. Only, when he went to heaven to talk to her, she wasn't there."

"And he's sure about that?"

"Yeah. When he came back and told me, I did not believe him and I wanted to know for sure. So… I made him go back and find Ash. If there was anybody up there who I would believe, it was Ash. Ash tried every trick he knows and then some and finally, he came up with the same conclusion, Hope is not in heaven. Cass came back and told me, I rang you and…" Sam widened his arms out, gesturing to the room, "here we are. We don't know where she is in hell, just that she has to be there and… we have no idea how to get her out."

After a slight pause, Sam continued, "There's something else Dean."

"I'm listening." Dead said, alert to this new worried tone in Sam's voice.

"Yesterday, Castiel worked out why Hope's body is still… alive… if that's even the right term for it…"

"And?" there was an edge to Dean's voice; he wanted to know and at the same time, he was frightened of the answer. Would this tear him further apart; make everything unbearable again? He had only just reached a place where he could breathe again, and he was not looking forward to taking another swan dive.

"There is an angel trapped in her body."

"She was possessed by an angel…" Dean's deep voice resonated with a rising anger, which Sam was quick to quell, "No… No… Hope was not possessed, but there is an angel, trapped, in her body, like that is its prison or something. Cass can't tell who it is or communicate with it in any way. He thinks, though, that that is how Hope flew to the warehouse in the first place. That somehow she harnessed its powers and used them to get her to us."

"No. No way. If she was able to do that, she would have done it years ago when her life depended on it, when the hellhounds were killing everyone around her." Dean argued, not wanting to believe what Sam was saying.

"I said the same thing to Cass. Which is when he went back to the wards on the door of the secret room and on the books. Cass thinks the explosion of white light was somehow supposed to free the trapped angel. Only, it did not do a very good job, it merely knocked it about a bit, freeing it a little, maybe, and somehow Hope's desire to get to us, to save us from the trap, made it possible for her mind and the powers to connect so that she got what she wanted."

"So Hope's destiny wasn't really about Hope. Whoever set it all up, the secret room, the men of letters finding Hope and bringing her back here, that was all about freeing the angel and allowing it to possess Hope?"

"Yeah, looks like."

"Great… As if, those douchebags have not done enough to this family!" Dean exploded. He stood up; the chair scraped loudly across the floor as he roughly pushed it back. Anger was welling up with Dean and he struggled to control it. Dean paced away, towards the war room, clenching and releasing his fists as he did so. Sam watched on warily. When he reached the edge of the room, Dean stopped and raised his hands up, brushing them through his hair before he clasped them firmly behind his head. All the while, he was taking in deep even breaths. After a few minutes, and then shaking off the building tension, Dean turned back to face Sam.

"I went hunting too… After I got out of the hospital, it was too quiet, I couldn't just sit there." Dean admitted to Sam. "I wanted to come back here, but I… I just wasn't ready to face you, I guess or see Hope's body…" Dean sighed and started walking back towards the table where Sam still sat.

"I don't blame you…" Sam said, emphasising each work.

"I know." Dean breathed, "here," pointing to his head, "but not… here!" he finished, pointing to his heart.

"Dean…" Sam was lost for words; he always was when it came to Dean blaming himself, for something that had happened. Sam knew that Dean always thought everything bad, that happened, was his fault and usually there was no telling him any different. Instead, Sam took a different track, "Did you find anything? On your hunt?"

Slowly Dean nodded his head, he had walked back to the table and turning the chair around so that the back of it faced the table, he straddled the chair. "I found his bitch. The vamp that tried to kill us."

"Wait, what?" exclaimed Sam, his eyes wide with surprise, "What did she say?" he asked, questioning Dean with his eyes and his subtle hand gestures.

"She didn't know much, and… I'm sure she was telling the truth," Dean used Sam's explanation from earlier, "but, she said that a demon had approached him and given him the information he needed to lure in Jody. Sonofabitch had to make sure there were too many vamps for Jody so that she would call us in. Then, when he had us there, he was supposed to kill us. Only, prick got cute, that and Hope stuffed up his plans."

"Did she say who the demon was?"

"Nah, she didn't know squat. She was never there to see him and her mate did not drop any names or any other information for that matter. Dude did not even know the other vamps, in the nest. He just used them to set the scene." A look of disgust crossed Dean's face as he finished his story.

"So, what? You want to go after this demon? Even the score?" Sam asked.

Dean thought about it, he wanted revenge on the bastard that had set this whole mess up; the demon that had pulled the strings, too weak to do his own dirty work, but, they had another more pressing issue, finding Hope and freeing her from hell. "Nah…" Dean finally admitted, "Hope needs to be our priority. She has already been in hell too long. We need to get her out. That is the single most important thing right now. Saving Hope."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean, eyes closed, let the cold water of the shower flow over his body; trying, unsuccessfully, to numb the ache, he felt deep within. He had been in the shower for half an hour at least, in an attempt to delay the start of a new day, where continued failure seemed inevitable. Nearly a full day's research, the day before, and the boys had nothing to show for it. Ultimately, though, Dean knew the day must start, despite how he felt, and begrudgingly he turned the shower off and went about the task of getting dressed.

Dean slowed as he approached the closed door to the room where Hope's body lay in stasis. He had not been inside, and, he thought, he could not go inside, to see her shell. Quickly he sped up as if he were afraid that somehow the room would draw him in if he dawdled. Ahead, lay the open doorway to Sam's room. Dean paused here and looking in, he could see Sam, sound asleep, on the bed. Soft rumblings of his 'near' snoring rolled out of the room. Dean's heart ached a little more, seeing his brother looking so peaceful there on the bed; when he knew that he would soon wake again, into this living nightmare in which they found themselves.

"Dean?" Dean's head whipped around at the sound of his name, a sad frown flashed across his face as he saw the source of that call. For a minute, he stood looking back at the person in the hallway; unable to speak, he simply shook his head and turned slowly on the spot before walking away in the opposite direction. Sam, asleep on the bed, had bolted awake at hearing someone call Dean's name and now, sitting up on his elbows, he watched Dean turn and walk away. As the footsteps faded down the hallway, another set approached and within seconds Castiel stood in Sam's doorway. Sam sighed, instantly feeling guilty, and pulled himself out of the bed, watching Castiel as he did so. When he was upright, a dejected Castiel asked, "Why didn't you tell me Dean was back?"

"Cass…" A haunted look on his face, Sam did not want to hurt Castiel; but shaking his head, he did just that, "Dean didn't want me too." A stolid Castiel stood in the doorway until Sam could not handle the lack of emotion anymore, "Cass…" he pleaded. "I'm fine." came Castiel's stoic response.

"As if" Sam blurted, "Look… I know you are hurting. That… he hurt you… but you have to think about it from Dean's point of view. We all lost Hope, but Dean is bound to feel it more. What… I knew her for a month or so, and don't get me wrong, I loved her… and there is a massive hole in my heart that will never go away… we are family and the amount of time you get means nothing when family, is involved. You… you knew her longer, sure, but really, most of that time, you believed her to be dead… and ok I get it; she was your charge and you felt… feel… a strong connection to her and a sense of responsibility… but Dean… Dean had her all his life… even if he did not know it… their connection was…" Sam paused, squeezing his eyes shut against the fresh pain that washed over him as he thought about something Dean had told him late last night, "Dean told me," Sam opened his eyes to look at Castiel, "that all he felt now, was empty. Hope is… was… the feeling inside him that drove him on. When the chips were down, or the world was about to end, Dean always found a way to continue, to push me, you, us, to find…" Sam's mouth evolved into a tight smile as he realised the irony of what he was about to say, "to find hope. He kept on fighting, no matter what… because he felt that drive within himself, that he knew, somehow, someone out there was on his side; they wanted him to never give up, to muster the courage to face everything in front of him and keep on swinging, but now, he says that that's… gone."

Castiel's head hung low as Sam finished his story. "And… that's my fault…" Castiel whispered to himself, "Cass…" implored Sam, moving towards him; but it was too late; Castiel had taken flight, leaving a wistful looking Sam standing alone in the middle of the room.

Now it was Sam's turn in the shower. He too preferred the cold water today. Just like Dean, Sam was subconsciously trying to wash away the pain that had chained itself to his heart. Unable to budge it, even a little, he eventually gave up; turning the shower off, he began preparing himself for the day ahead.

Walking up the stairs, between the war room and the library, Sam's resolve, to talk to Dean regarding how he had treated Castiel, almost cracked. However, he gathered himself together and approached Dean, who was sitting at the second table, the only one that stood upright, inside the messy room. "Dean," Sam began before stopping hastily; only because of the way Dean's shoulders slumped forward; all Sam could see in front of him, was the shell of his brother. Destroyed by the loss of his twin. "Don't say it, Sammy… I know… I promise. I know." Dean's body stayed slumped over as he raised his hands up; propping his head up against the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders. He sat that way for some time, while Sam stood at the head of the table unsure what to say, or do; nothing seemed appropriate. Sam was at a loss as he frantically thought through each response he might give and the outcomes that might result from what he said. Dean spoke first, breaking the crippling silence that plagued the air. "I know… I should have talked to Cass, I just…" sighing heavily, Dean buried his head further in his hands, "I don't blame him. Not anymore. It is just… He is a reminder, everywhere and everything I look at around here is a reminder. It is not enough that our sister's body is lying on a bed in a room, just down the hallway… but then, I am so lucky, that I get reminded of what we lost, again, and again. I just did not want that… not first thing today… I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well… next time…"

Dean lifted his head from his hands and looked up at Sam, "Yeah… Sammy, next time, I will play nice. Nicer… hey um… you, ah, have a fight with a lawnmower?" Dean was brushing his thumb and forefinger along his own chin; Sam was now somewhat clean-shaven, with a few minor nicks and cuts still oozing a bit of blood. "Shut up…" Sam cursed at his brother. Dean raised his eyebrows, "Yeah well, if it is all the same with you… I would rather research."

The brothers researched all through the day and well into the night, stopping only to use the bathroom or to get food and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Even though they had been at it for hours, they had barely put a dent in the number of books now available to them, from the secret room's shelves. It was well past midnight when Sam fell asleep; his head nodded slowly towards his chest before his body surrendered to the call for sleep; slumping across the Chesterfield sofa in the centre of the secret room. This is where Dean found him a couple of minutes later when he came in from the library looking for another book; the book he had just finished with was as useless as all the rest. Dean took the book Sam was holding and placed it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He then lifted Sam's legs up so that they were on the couch. Even though the sofa was a three seater, Sam looked more than a little squashed, lying there, but Dean did not have the heart to wake him, just to send him to his own bed. Dean stood watching his brother; Sam went from that first peaceful slumber, straight to nightmare wonderland. He started to mumble in his sleep as his head moved restlessly to the side as his hands clenched and trembled, living whatever it was he saw in his mind. At first, Dean was uncomfortable, feeling as if he was going to get in trouble for eavesdropping without permission, but soon after, Dean could not draw himself away from what he was hearing.

Eventually, what he was hearing, took its toll. Dean struggled for breath, hyperventilating, as he started to piece together the little bits of the puzzle that were Sam's dream rants. Dean teared from the room, looking for an escape, which would not come; this knowledge, this understanding was just too much. Quickly he ran up the stairs from the war room and yanking the heavy door to the bunker open, he charged outside, somehow hoping the cool air of the night would help him catch his breath. Bent over at the middle, his hands on his knees for support, Dean sucked in each breath, trying frantically to calm down. To put the anger back away, back in deep, where it belonged. After some time, Dean's breathing returned to normal and he pushed himself up, looking up to the heavens. "You are… un-freaken-believable… You know that… Hasn't this family suffered enough, haven't Sam and I… You selfish bastard…" Dean screamed at the sky. Tears began to well, and then fall, silently, as Dean stood there looking up.

"No… No… you know what? No…" Dean shook his head from side to side, swatting away the tears that refused to stop falling, "I am not going to cry anymore – not over things you did or didn't do… and you!" Suddenly, it seemed as if Dean was talking to someone else; his finger pointed to the sky, stressing every word he said, "You are something else altogether. You sit there, doing nothing, just moving your little pawns over the board. You let this happen, you let all of this happen" Dean's arms went wide as if he was trying to include everything around him, "Everything that has ever gone wrong in my life – you let happen. I don't understand why people put any faith in you; you don't help, you certainly don't care. You took her from me, from Sam, from Cass. After everything, we have done for you, for this world, your world… you still… took her from us. Well, that's it. I'm done. I am finally done. I'm going to get Hope out of hell if it kills me and then I'm done. No more helping others, no more trying to save the world – just… done. You can stick it – are you hearing me – you can stick it all."

Finished with his tirade, Dean turned and sauntered back inside; lighter now, having removed a great weight from his shoulders. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned left and made his way back to the library; re-invigorated by the night air, Dean felt ready to continue researching for a few more hours. At the top of the stairs, he stopped short, "Dean." Dean shook his head slightly at the person who dared to utter his name; with a dour look on his face, he calmly said, "Go… Away…" The man moved towards Dean, from the far end of the library, "Come now Dean, is that any way to treat a guest. Besides, I got the impression you had some things you wanted to tell me." The voice was pleasant enough, but it riled Dean up; trying desperately to keep his cool, Dean responded, in a cool and calming tone, "I've said everything I wanted to say… Chuck… I have nothing else to add."

"Sounded to me, like you were giving up."

"Not giving up. No. First, I'm going to save Hope and then I am going to get on with my life. Make sure Sam and Cass are good and just… live. That's not giving up."

"You would turn your back on all those that need your help." God asked, his questioning eyes drilling into Dean.

A darkness took up residence on Dean's face, shooting out from his eyes, as he stared at God, "That is rich, coming from you." He stormed, "How dare you come down here and tell me I'm giving up on them – when you gave up on them long ago."

"I have helped you, Dean."

"Yeah, well not enough!" Dean fumed, the rage exploding from his gut, he turned away from Chuck, fearful of what he felt prepared to do. "You need to leave…" he pleaded, calm returning to his voice.

"I can't. Not before, you promise to keep working, to keep helping others. The world needs your help, now. This latest threat… is dire. You must help them." God commanded.

"Oh… Come on!" Dean roared; his jaw was set, his brow furrowed in, breathing through clenched teeth, he tried to remain in control. "You cannot seriously be asking me this. You know what this threat is. How 'dire' it is? Stop it, then. Just snap your fingers and end them all."

"I can't do that Dean, you know…"

"Yeah yeah, 'I don't like to get my poor little hands dirty'" Dean was mocking Chuck now. He still had not turned around to face him; couldn't bring himself to look at him, he hated him so much right now, "'I made this world, but I don't give, enough damn, to do anything for it – I just want to watch poor Sammy and Dean twist themselves up in knots trying to do what's right…' Well boo hoo, Chuck. Like I said before – you can stick it." Dean took in a deep breath before continuing, "Now leave… Before I pick up that sword over there, turn around, and drive it through your chest."

The room was silent.

Dean's shoulders rose and fell with each breath.

Eventually, Dean turned around.

Dean's jaw dropped at the sight before him.

Chuck was gone.

The library was spotless. Every table, chair, book, weapon, returned to its original place. Every broken item, fixed as if nothing out of the sorts had occurred in this room.

On the second table, stood two piles of books, one to the right of the table, the other to the left.

One book sat alone at the head of the table.

Dean moved towards the first pile, reaching out to touch the book that lay on top. A puzzled look moved across his face before he took his hand back and moved to the other side of the table. This time, pain flashed across his face as he reached out and touched the top book; he removed his hand quickly as if scalded by the book. "Sonofabitch…"


	6. Chapter 6

"What the hell? How long was I out?" came Sam's puzzled cry as he stepped through the secret doorway and into the now spotlessly clean library. He peered back into the secret room, where he noticed that it too sparkled like new, everything back in its right place; Sam had been too busy wiping the sleep from his eyes, waking up very sore from his night on the couch, to notice the change, until now.

"You did all this, while I was asleep?" he asked Dean.

"No…" grumbled Dean, without looking up from his morning coffee and the book that sat in front of him. After Chuck had left, Dean had decided to sleep for a few hours before returning to his research.

"Well, then, what? How?"

"God did it."

Sam's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped, before he exclaimed, "Chuck was here… In the bunker… and he… cleaned?"

"Yeah, the dick was here… and he cleaned."

"You called him?"

"No." Dean scoffed, miffed that Sam would even think that, and it came through clearly in the tone of that one word.

"Then what, he just turned up?"

Dean's head tilted to the side, a wary look on his face, "I might have yelled at him…" Dean admitted sheepishly, "Then, the little bastard just turned up…"

"Well what else did he want, what did he say?" Sam's interest was piqued now and he wanted answers; he could not believe that he had slept through a visit from Chuck. That Dean had not bothered to wake him.

"The usual… he wanted the usual – us, save the world… again…"

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him to get lost."

"And what? He just… left?"

"I may have threatened to stab him in the chest with a sword."

"Dean…"

"You know what, don't Dean me…" Dean rose from the head of the table where he was sitting and moved over towards Sam, "We have been through enough." He scoffed. "Hell, we were doomed from the very beginning. Bought up all wrong, after some bastard demon took our mom from us. A father, who had one thing on his mind, which was not us… and since then, sure, we have done, plenty, wrong. I sold my soul to bring you back. We opened a gate to hell. Went to hell." Dean shook his head; when you put it all out there like that, it was one hell of a story. "They brought me back, Sammy, to play their little game… of course, we ruined that for them, after we let Lucifer out. We put him back. The Leviathans, hell that wasn't our fault, but we dealt with it. Now the tablets and all the crap that went with that, we'll wear that, but… we fixed it, even if the Angels fell. We fixed it until we let the darkness loose. And guess what? We fixed that too… Now… Now he wants us to get back in the game and fix this next big 'issue'" Dean made quotation marks with his fingers as he spat the word 'issue'.

"What, the murder-suicides? He wants us on that?"

"Says it's dire."

"Dire?"

"His exact word. Dire. But you know what? Not our problem…"

"You told Chuck that?"

"You bet I did. Look, Sammy. He refused to help with Hope, but he wants us to bend over backwards to clean up yet another mess."

"Or stop it from becoming another mess…"

"Whatever… The point is, I'm done. I'm just… done."

"You told Chuck that?"

"Yes. Sammy. I told Chuck that."

"And?"

"And… he cleaned up. Left us a pile of books." Dean gestured towards the table where the books sat, before turning back to Sam, "and then he took off."

"Just like that."

"Just like that."

The boys stood, staring at each other, neither wanting to speak next. Dean turned and walked back over to his coffee. Picking it up off the table, he took a sip before turning back to face Sam. "Truth is, these books were all ours, to begin with, they came out of the secret room." Dean sighed before continuing, "Man… we need another name for that… the secret room… what a stupid name!"

"What are they?"

"What… the secret room?"

"No, Dean. The books. What are the books?"

"Oh…" Dean let out a slightly embarrassed laugh and then answered Sam's question, "Well this pile is going to help us with the murder-suicides and…" Dean gestured to the other side of the table, "This pile, will help us find Hope."

"Chuck tell you that?"

"Not exactly."

"Then…"

"Come over here." Dean gestured for Sam to come over to the table, "pick one up, or just touch one."

Sam approached the table, an apprehensive look on his face. When he got there, he reached out his hand and touched one of the books in the 'murder-suicide' pile. "Whoa… It feels… like… I should read this. That I need to read this…" Dean nodded and then said, "Now… one of those." As he pointed at the other pile. Sam reached out to touch one of the books and, like Dean; he quickly snatched his hand back, "Ow".

"Exactly. Ow. The dick doesn't want us to use those books… but you can tell what they are, right? You feel what they'll help us with…"

"And what is that one?" Sam asked pointing at the book that now sat in the middle of the table, just above where Dean's book lay open. "That one… That's for Castiel." Dean replied. "How do you know?" Sam asked, "It's written in Enochian." Dean replied, and then he sat back down in front of his book.

"You're researching?"

"You bet I am."

"From which pile?"

"There is only one pile that is relevant to me." Dean said, looking back up at Sam, "Besides… It only hurts when you touch it…"

Sam laughed at that. Then he pulled out the chair at the opposite end of the table, before he picked up one of the books, pain racing across his face, and dropped it on the table in front of him. Stealing his breath for the second round, he opened the book and flipped to the first page; then he sat down and started reading. Dean, who had watched all of this, smiled at his brother's antics and then looking back at his book, he too continued to read.

After a couple of hours, the boys taking turns to grimace and moan in pain, as they flipped to their next page, Sam stood up, "I'm going to make a run for some coffee and some breakfast. You want?"

"Sure thing…" Dean replied, looking up at Sam, "Make sure it's greasy."

"Yeah, yeah, heart attack much?"

"Shut up…"

Sam had only been gone about ten minutes when Dean heard footsteps coming down the stairs, "What's the matter? You forget your hair tie?" he yelled over his shoulder.

"I don't need a hair tie." came the confused reply.

Dean jumped to his feet, knocking the chair over as he did so. He turned, just in time to see Castiel reach the top of the stairs to the library. "Cass…"

"You cleaned?" Cass said eyeing the library; it was trashed the last time he saw it.

"Ah, yeah… Listen, Cass…"

"Dean, it is fine. I deserved it."

"No, you didn't Cass… It was not your fault."

"It wasn't yours either…"

"Yeah. Ok. Let us say I believe that. Look, about not talking to you the other day…"

"That's fine. I've passed on."

"You've… what?" Dean was confused; eventually, he worked it out, "Moved on… You've moved on… Cass…"

"Not… passed?"

"No!"

"Well ok then… Who cleaned? And when?"

"Chuck; last night…"

"God. Was here?" Castiel was stunned.

Dean just nodded, unable to have this conversation again. He turned back to the table saying, "He left you a book." and picking the book up, Dean turned back and offered it to Castiel.

Castiel took the few steps between them before taking the book from Dean's hands. Looking down at the book sheer astonishment swept across his face, "But… this…"

"What is it Cass?" a worried Dean asked.

There was a long pause as Castiel slowly moved his right hand down the front of the book, tracing the markings that were etched in the old leather cover, "He left this for me?" he finally asked, not taking his eyes off the book. "Yeah, Cass. It's written in Enochian and last time I checked, Sammy and I don't speak… or read the language." Dean tilted his head to the side, concern for his friend fixed on his face. "Cass… Can't you feel it? The book… that's it's… for you?"

"Well… yes… but…" Castiel looked up at Dean, fixing in on his face, "You feel that too?"

Dean was a little puzzled by the intensity of Castiel's tone, "Sure… I feel it… Just like I can feel what he wants Sam and me to do with those books." Dean gestured at the two piles of books on the table. Without letting go of the book in his hands, Castiel rounded the tabled and lay his free hand on each pile of books in turn, "A little childish of him…" Dean's jaw dropped and a look of confused delight seeped across his face; confused that Castiel, his Castiel, may have just chided Chuck; delight, that he had it in him at all.

A small white light shone out of Castiel's hand as it hovered over the books; he was undoing what God had done to them, making them just books once more. Turning back to look at Dean, he raised the book he still had and said, "I don't think this is for me." Dean raised his eyebrow in confusion and asked, "Why not?"

"Because, this," Castiel shook the book he was still holding high, "this is a book for archangels… It is like a handbook for them. A way to learn about their skills, to improve themselves."

"The angels needed books for that?"

"Well, no. The archangels inherently knew their special power… ability… but they need not have stopped there. They could have studied and become even more powerful, capable of almost anything."

"But they didn't?"

"No. Each of them was complacent with their lot."

"So the book is what… useless to you?"

"Yes. There are no archangels left. I am unsure who he intended this for."

"It's for you, Cass. He left it for you."

"Yes, I feel that, but, who would I train? There are no…" before Castiel could finish his last sentence, a blinding white strike, of what looked like lightning, filled the bunker, smashing into Castiel's chest. Dean dropped to the ground, shielding his eyes and ears with his arms as the sound of hundreds of successive strikes echoed around the room. Castiel hung in the air, as the lightning barrelled into him; a look of pain scored across his face.

The last bolt of lightning released Castiel and he fell to the ground; it took Dean a minute to realise that it was all over, but when he did, he struggled to his feet before rushing over to his friend.

"Cass…" he called, sliding to a stop as he reached Castiel's side; he dropped to his knees, grabbing Castiel by the shoulders and shaking him, he called again, "Cass…"

"Dean…"

The shout came from outside the room; Sam had hurled in through the door and was rushing down the stairs into the war room. "Dean…" he yelled again, unable to mask the panic in his voice.

"In here…" Dean yelled in reply.

Sam ran into the room, and stopped short as he saw Dean on the floor beside an unconscious Castiel, "Dean… What the hell happened? I've been trying to get in the door for ages…"

"What… what are you talking about? You've been gone for like fifteen minutes."

"Try an hour and a half! The last twenty minutes of which I have been trying to open the door to the bunker…"

Dean's eyes, staring blankly past his brother, flickered from side to side as he tried to think through what he was hearing; confusion and fear prevented him from locking in on any single thought that might help him.

"Dean…" Sam's level of concern was quickly escalating as he watched his brother's face; Sam wanted desperately to snap his brother out of it, but he had no idea of what he was trying to get him back from. "Dean…" Sam reached down and dragged his brother to his feet by the front of his khaki jacket; shaking him, Sam tried to physically, snap him back to the present. Thinking quickly, Sam slapped Dean across the face.

"What the hell?" a shocked Dean asked his brother.

Sam let out a sharp breath, relieved that Dean was now responding, "What. Happened?"

Dean shook his head before answering, "I… don't know… Cass and I were standing there talking and then suddenly there was all this lightning and this… ear shattering sound…" Dean continued to shake his head as he relived the event, "I don't know what it was, Sammy… I don't…" Fear and confusion were quickly working their way back into Dean's demeanour; Sam grabbed his brother by the jacket again and spun him around, slowly walking him backwards, he made his brother sit in a chair before he walked over to the decanter and poured his brother a scotch. Walking back over to Dean, he handed him the drink; Dean took the drink and downed it in one go, as Sam walked over to check on Castiel.

"He's unconscious… but other than that there doesn't seem to be anything wrong?"

"I…" Dean started to respond, before realising he had nothing to add.

"Dean… What happened?" Sam looked at his brother, who just sat there like a lost little child. "Dean…" he coaxed, "What were you and Castiel talking about?"

Dean looked at Sam in confusion, he was struggling to remember; what had he and Castiel been discussing? "The book… we were… talking about the book… It's a manual, for archangels…" Dean was talking fast, shaking and agitated. Sam got up from Castiel's side and walked quickly back to his brother, kneeling down in front of him; Sam grabbed Dean's jacket for the third time, forcing Dean to look at him, "Breath… Just breathe…" he told his brother; Dean struggled at first, but slowly his breathing returned to normal and his body stopped shaking.

Before long Dean asked, "You were really gone for an hour and a half?" Sam nodded his head; Dean continued, "But it felt like minutes… when it must have been… over an hour…" the realisation was not easy for Dean to take.

"What was?" Sam asked; he was sitting in a chair opposite his brother, Castiel was still out cold on the floor.

"The lightning… it was… attacking Castiel or…" Dean took in a deep breath and releasing it slowly he added, "I don't know what it was… or why… but it was…" he sighed again, looking past his brother, to Castiel's pale face, "It was sheer power… like… like nothing, I have ever felt before… and it scared me… It… really scared me…"


	7. Chapter 7

Sam was asleep on a chair that sat in the corner of Castiel's room, deep within the bunker. Dean sat resting comfortably on another chair beside the bed where Castiel lay, still unconscious from that morning's lightning storm in the library. The room was dark; a small dusting of light from the lamp on the bedside table was in direct competition with the even smaller amount of light that seeped in through the doorway, from the hall.

Dean's eyes moved from Castiel to Sam; worry the only emotion they showed. Dean was worried about Castiel for obvious reasons; the worry for Sam stemmed from the bad dreams the kid seemed to be having every time he shut his eyes of late. Sam fidgeted again in his sleep and muttered anxious rants to the world he was trapped in. As the noise escalated, Dean stood slowly, stretching out as he did so, and then he walked over to his brother, grabbing his shoulder lightly while calling his name, "Sam…" At first, Sam didn't respond, too entrenched in his nightmare to be pulled out of it by Dean, but as Sam became more and more involved in the dream, Dean couldn't let his brother suffer anymore.

"Sammy…" he yelled, shaking his brother's shoulder much more violently than before. Sam's hands went up in defence; not sure, what was happening confused between what was real and what was simply a dream. Dean stepped back quickly to avoid the inevitable defensive punch, his hands wide, signalling that he was not the bad guy here, "You were dreaming kid…" Sam released his defensive position and pulled himself up so that he sat properly in the chair, rather than the slump he had been in before. Dean sighed heavily before he turned and walked back to his own chair. Unable to let it go, without trying to help his brother, Dean spoke out, "You need to let it go, Sammy."

"Let it go? Let what go?" Sam's eyebrows were raised in a questioning manner.

"Dad… the Djinn… everything… It's just gonna eat you up if you don't."

"You know?"

"Yeah…" Sam looked puzzled; Dean elaborated, "You talk in your sleep… I pieced it together…" he said with an apologetic shrug.

"So you know…" Dean merely nodded at Sam's repeated question, "You know, that we could have had our sister years ago… and it doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me, Sam…" Dean spat it out, but was instantly regretting it because of the look on Sam's face, he quickly continued, "Look, it's done. We can't change it. We have to move on."

Sam looked up at the sky, tears welling; "I'm so sorry, Dean." Dean was confused; why was Sam apologising for what their dad did? "For what?" he asked, unable to work it out.

"For not telling you. Or dad. It's all my fault…"

"Your fault?"

"Dean…" Sam whispered, "I should have said something, but I forgot. I understand that you are angry with me. I'm sorry. I wish you would just yell at me. Or… Hit me… something, anything. How long have you known? Dean… please…"

Understanding dawned on Dean, as he realised why Sam was so upset and where the nightmares were coming from; Sam thought the fault was his, given that their Dad had never set off looking for Hope. Gently, he corrected him, "Sam… You have it wrong. Us not finding Hope, it's not your fault?"

"Yes, it is Dean. I knew because Dad told me. He told me about Hope… when you were chasing the Djinn and I stayed back to help him. I was supposed to remind him… but I forgot… I forgot" the last two words were barely audible as Sam retreated into his own mind, unable to forgive himself for not remembering.

"Sam." Dean walked back over to his brother until they were just a foot apart; kneeling down beside his brother, he asked, "You remember when I got caught, by the Djinn?"

"Yeah, of course.,

"Well, you remember what happened to me?"

"Yeah – you were in another reality. We, you and me, didn't hunt there. Mum hadn't died, I was with Jess, engaged. You had someone. Dad was dead, but he had died of a heart attack… not because of the yellow-eyed demon… You were happy… ish…" Sam went quiet again, as he remembered that Dean had discovered that all the people they had saved over the years had died because he and Dean had not ever taken up hunting; and he remembered how Dean had given up all of that happiness to come back to him in their much darker reality.

"And how do you know all that, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head; he could tell by Dean's tone that the question was important, that he wanted him to work something out, but he had no idea what Dean was getting at, "You told me…" his reply cautious, as if he was worried he was going to get it wrong.

"I told you…" Dean put a heavy emphasis on all three words, speaking each slowly.

"Yeah…"

Dean could see that Sam hadn't worked it out yet – Sam just couldn't see what had been so obvious to Dean from the first time he heard Sam mutter it in his dreams.

"I told you… because… I…" Dean paused, tilting his head in towards Sam, willing him to work it out for himself; realisation eventually dawned on Sam's face and seeing it Dean continued, "Because I remembered. Moreover, that means Dad remembered. Because that's what the Djinn does. If they can't have you in their make-believe world, then they sure as hell want you to be miserable in the real world. Dad knew. Hope was nineteen, one year of running under her belt. Dad knew about her and he chose Mom, not her." a deep and heavy sadness could be found in Dean's words and in his eyes, "He didn't even bother to tell us. That is some kind of messed up – right there."

Sam slumped back in his chair, Dean rose to his feet and ambled away; to some degree, Sam felt a certain relief at what he was hearing, he may not be as responsible as he first thought. "This… is what you have been punishing yourself about, for that last four and half weeks?" Dean asked as he turned back to stare at his brother; Sam nodded, unable to voice the angst he had felt. "Well… It stops now, Sammy. That is definitely not on you…" Dean paused before continuing; choosing his words carefully, "He was a selfish bastard, and for the parts of him that I find in myself, and the way I treat you, I apologise."

"You're not like him, Dean."

"Yeah, I am. Too much."

"No Dean, you're not. I mean, sure, on some things you are so focused, like, he got, it's downright scary, but on the whole… you care too much to be like him. He didn't care. Not like that. Not about us, anyway."

Dean shook his head, not sure he agreed with Sam; Sam shook his head too realising Dean didn't agree with him, he wished he would or could see it from his point of view, but when was Dean ever going to see any good in himself, Sam thought.

"Ok. No more 'bowel movement' scenes…" Dean's brow rose with a hint of playfulness that had been missing since Dean's return; Sam gave a small laugh at Dean's deflection; he never did like the chick flick moments. "Time for a recap…" Dean added, desperate to move away from their current topic.

"Ok." Sam jumped right in, helping Dean out, "We have two cases. One that Chuck is all for and one… well, one he isn't that into…"

"Right," countered Dean, "Murder-suicides and our sister, trapped in hell… where are we on those?"

"Bupkis… on both counts…"

Dean laughed aloud at that one, a real hearty laugh at that; a broad smile beamed across Sam's face, elated that he had brought about some joy in his brother. "Hmm… We have at least five main murder-suicides… Are they all on the same line of longitude?" Dean asked, continuing the recap.

"Yeah… well, I think the last two were – Cass didn't say they weren't and… well, I wasn't really into listening at that point…" Sam offered, "And we think that someone is trying to mess with the veil, to bring down the wall or…"

"Wait… What?" Dean cut his brother off; this was the first he had heard about something happening with the veil. Sam stood up, realising he had failed to tell his brother everything he had learnt over the last week; he moved to stand at the end of Castiel's bed before he continued. Dean stood to his right, looking at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Yeah… I guess I forgot to mention that one… Sorry. Cass had been talking to a friend. Another angel, I think, and he thinks that the shimmering is someone messing with the veil, which then, for some reason, makes everyone in the near vicinity go insane and start… well… you were there too… you know what happens."

"Who is this other angel? We know him?"

"Jehoel."

"Je-who?"

"Jehoel."

"Ja-whole?"

"Jeh-hoe-elle" this last word, or three syllables, came as a mere whisper from the bed; both Dean and Sam whipped their heads around and in unison blurted, "Cass?"

"Yes." As he tried to move, pain shot through Castiel's body causing his face to distort and a low groan escaped his pursed lips. Dean rushed to the bed, perching on the edge of the chair beside his friend, "Cass… It's alright. You're going to be alright."

Taking his time and clearly struggling to talk through the pain, Castiel asked, "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Dean flashed a look at his brother, who gave an equally distressed look straight back at him. Castiel seemed to ponder, his eyes rolling back as he fought the pain while trying to recall anything that might explain to him why he was feeling this way. "No…" was all he managed to get out before his back arched up off the bed as another wave of pain flooded through his body. Dean grabbed Castiel's hand trying to let his friend know that he was there; wishing like hell there was something, anything, he could do to take the pain away. Sam moved to the other side of the bed, worry plastered across his face; nobody understood what was happening to the angel.

After a few minutes, Castiel's body was released from the pain that had gripped it and he fell back to the bed, breathing heavily, a sweat brewing up on his forehead. Dean and Sam exchanged worried looks before Dean, still holding Castiel's hand started to talk to him again. "Cass…" his worried tone had a small hint of fear lingering in it, "Cass… What is wrong? Can we do something? Cass?"

"I don't know." Each word Castiel spoke was as laboured as his breathing and it caused more worry to bloom within the brothers. "I feel like every cell in my body is… on… fire…" with the effort of those last words, Castiel slumped back into unconsciousness. Sam reached out to touch Castiel's face, "He's burning up. What can do that to an angel?" Dean's eyes flicked quickly to his brother's face before hastily retreating to Castiel's; watching over him like a hawk, Dean felt he could not leave his friend for a second, lest something happened to him. "Dean…" Sam called to his brother when there was no response; he called again, "Dean…" Dean's eyes left Castiel's face again, to find out what Sam wanted; Sam didn't waste any time, speaking as soon as he saw he had Dean's attention, "We need to do something…"

"I don't know what…"

"Well he's burning up we need to do something…" Dean's eyes went straight back to Castiel, flickering as the brain behind them tried desperately, to think on how they could help their friend. Sam stood tall again and started pacing between the door and the bed; back and forth, he went, all the while Dean just sat, holding Castiel's hand in both of his. On Sam's sixth trip between the bed and the door, Dean finally had an answer, "Pray…" he whispered.

"What?" Sam looked over at Dean as he asked him to repeat what he had said; not sure, he had really heard or believed, what his brother had said.

"Pray." Dean repeated, much louder this time as his confidence in what he was saying grew, "Pray. To God or the angels… to this Jehoel… somebody will know what to do… somebody should answer."

Sam turned back to the door, thinking about what to say in his prayers. Dean, sitting with Castiel, hung his head low and started to pray asking for help. Time ticked on as the boys whispered their prayers to whoever was listening; other than their low murmurs, the room was quiet. When he had finished his prayer, Sam turned back around, looking for Dean and realising he was still praying, he bowed his head too. Both Dean and Sam were acutely aware that nobody was rushing to Castiel's aid. Where were they? Sam thought frantically. "Dean…" the new whisper came from the bed, "You're praying?"

"Cass…" Dean cried out, cutting off his prayer mid-sentence, "How are you?" Castiel turned his head slightly, grimacing in pain as he did so. "I feel… better… Still on fire," each word pained Castiel, but he carried on, "but it's on the way out…" Dean shook his head, he needed to be doing something to help, not just sitting idly by while his friend suffered, "Cass… what can I do?"

"What happened to me?"

"You seriously don't remember?" Dean shot Sam, who was standing at the base of the bed, another worried look; it was unlike Castiel to not, remember something. Angels had amazing memories.

"No. I don't know what happened."

"Well, what is the last thing you do remember?"

Pain shot through Castiel's body, his face screwed up as his breathing shortened, trying to control what he was feeling. He grimaced through the pain, trying to speak, "We… were talking…"

"Cass…" Dean cried, "Don't… just rest…"

"No. It takes my mind off it…" Castiel replied, his eyes searching Dean's face, before he continued, "God came here. Were you praying to him just now?"

"Cass, I was praying to anyone who would listen, who would come and help you."

"But, no one answered. I'm not much liked anymore." A sadness crept into Castiel's eyes, amongst the pain that was already plastered across his face, it made him look just that little bit more broken and Dean's heart leapt, tears springing to his eyes, which he tried desperately to hide from Castiel, "What else do you remember, Cass?" he asked quickly; hoping that Castiel hadn't seen the tears.

"God came. He had cleaned and, left you books…" Castiel paused, thinking, pain still etched into his features, "He left me a book too and…" Castiel stopped again, his face thick with concentration, trying to remember through the pain, "I don't know… I can't remember anything else…"

"The lightning?"

"What, lightning?" Castiel asked Dean, turning his head once again to look at his friend.

"The lightning. It attacked you, Cass… Sam said it went on for about an hour; he was trapped outside." Dean watched Castiel's face closely, "You don't remember that?" Castiel shook his head; no, he didn't remember that. Suddenly Castiel's body seized again as a fresh wave of immense pain enveloped him, "Dean…" he screeched through the pain, his hand tightening around Dean's, almost cutting off his circulation. "Cass…" Dean cried in reply; he was sick with worry, watching his friend's body being taken over by the pain.

"Keep recapping…" Castiel managed to force the words out between sharp breaths, while his body twisted and contorted itself on the bed, "helps… take… my… mind…"

Dean frantically looked at Sam, trying to remember where they had been up to, in their recap, stumbling through his thoughts to grasp something, anything that he could say to help Castiel. Sam realising what he wanted opened with, "So Jehoel thought someone is trying to mess with the veil…" he threw his hands up as he spoke, silently asking Dean if that was ok, Dean jumped on the trail of thought, "Right, Cass's friend." Instantly his mind jumped to a conclusion; some friend he was... hasn't turned up to help Castiel, even though we prayed for it. What kind of friend, angel or not, would do that? Dean thought as he sat there watching Castiel, who was still racked with pain. Then Dean's mind jumped to another logical conclusion, one that had been trying to breach into his consciousness ever since he first heard about the threat to the veil, "It's not the veil…" he said softly to the room, lost in the thought connected to it.

"What?" Sam queried, confusion spreading across his face.

"It's not the veil…" Dean repeated, looking back at his brother, he was sure of it now, but he had to try it out on Sam, "We've been to the veil. There is nothing there, except dead people, who didn't go with their reaper or those that are waiting. It is not evil… It is not, anything. They are not trying to bring down the wall between earth and the veil. They're trying to bring down the wall between earth and hell…" Dean let his sentence hang in the air, an eerie silence descended on the room, even Castiel seemed to have calmed and his breathing was returning to normal. Sam shook his head slowly, as he thought through what Dean was saying. Could it be? He did not think so, "No… It is not possible. Hell's not here…"

"Who says?" Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting for Sam to answer and when no answer came, he continued, "Who says it's not here. It's just another dimension, right? Heaven is up. The angels fell, cast out and down to earth. Lucifer was cast down to hell. But, who says hell is below us? It's just somewhere, and considering the earth is solid… then it makes sense that, hell is just another dimension… here… one that we can't see or get too." Dean paused, thinking about what he had just said, correcting himself he went on, "Well not without the gates. Or a portal, like the one Billie made when I went to hell to help Crowley get you back out of the cage… again… Yeah…" he said, feeling that he was more right, the more he said, "It makes sense. It makes more sense than someone tampering with the veil…"

"Who then? Lucifer? And why?"

"The why is easy… Bring about an apocalypse. The, who? More difficult. Lucifer? Crowley? The situation is volatile; I doubt either of them is involved."

"Someone else then?"

Dean thought about it, finally, he nodded a weary look on his face, "An unknown… makes it that much worse…"

"They must be stopped." Castiel spoke up from the bed, colour had returned, ever so slightly to his face, and he seemed to be in less pain. "Geez, Cass." Dean spoke to him, "Don't we have enough problems? We need to save Hope, get you healed up…"

"I, feel better."

"Yeah, well we still don't know what happened to…" Dean stopped talking, his eyes wide, this new thought blowing his mind; both Sam and Castiel watched him, holding their breath, waiting for him to spill whatever it was he had worked out. Just as Sam could not take it anymore, Dean spoke, "It was God…"

"What?" Sam and Castiel asked in unison, each turning to look at each other, confused by Dean's abstract statement.

"It was God." Dean repeated, shaking his head; yes it all made sense. Unfortunately, for Sam and Castiel, it did not make any sense at all; they simply were not seeing whatever it was that Dean had realised. "What was God, Dean?" a frustrated Sam finally blurted out. Dean turned to look up at Sam, his hands moving out in a questioning manner, to show that he couldn't believe that Sam hadn't seen it too. "The Lightning… It was God."

"Why would God attack Cass with lightning?"

"Not attack… No… Chuck wasn't attacking him, with the lightning. He was changing him. He was making him an archangel…" Sam's breath caught at Dean's declaration, Castiel was disbelieving, "No, Dean. God would not do that."

"Why not? No… Don't answer that… I'll tell you why. We need something. We need something, 'big', to help us, and who better than our friend, the new and improved archangel. He left you a damn handbook for God's sake… well, not so much his sake, as our sake… We need a way to get Hope when we find her – he gives us an archangel; he knows we're not going to give up on her – or get to saving the world while she's still in hell, suffering. And if I'm right, and we're on the verge of another apocalypse… then we sure as hell need all the might we can get and what better than…" Dean's arms swept wide, showcasing Castiel as he lay on the bed, "our very own archangel…"

Sam's eyes blinked rapidly as he tried on Dean's explanation; he could be right, he thought as he worked through Dean's justifications. Castiel, on the other hand, was not so easily convinced, "No Dean… God would not… he wouldn't… Dean, I am not… worthy…" a frown appeared on Castiel's face; he was deeply happy that his best friend could think that God would see fit to make him an archangel, but he was also deeply saddened to know that he was not, in fact, worthy.

"Come on… Cass…" Dean's eyes tried to reason with Castiel, as much as the tone of his voice implied that Castiel was wrong on this one.

"Dean… It is ok. I know that I have done a lot wrong. Things that I should not be, forgiven for. The angels are right in not coming to my aid… and God would definitely not be choosing me, of all angels, to be made into an archangel."

"Bull… Cass… That is pure bull… You have done plenty good as well. You have more than made up for the mistakes you made, and you continue to fight for the world. Who better to make an archangel than you? None of them other douchebags have ever done anything that helps the greater good, only the 'angel good'," Sam's left eyebrow shot up at Dean's explanation, "Cass, you do deserve this. You are definitely, the only angel I would follow into battle and if God wants me and Sammy on his 'dire' issues, then he made the right choice, in you."

"Dean…" Castiel sighed, shaking his head before continuing, "I'm glad you have faith in me, but I'm telling you that God would not have…"

A sharp beeping noise interrupted Castiel's sentence; it came in a severe pattern, beep beep beep, pause, beep, pause, beep beep, pause and repeat.

All three boys looked at each other; none had heard this noise before. Sam turned and started walking towards the door; Dean rose from the chair beside the bed and started after his brother. Castiel raised himself up, propped up on his elbows as his eyes followed the boys. "It's coming from Hopes' room?" Sam stated his comment as a question, turning to quickly look at Dean, who gave him an equally confused look, before turning and walking down to Hope's room. He walked inside slowly, Dean close on his heals. The beeping continued. It didn't speed up, slow down or change in volume, it just kept beeping away.

Sam started to move to the left, once he entered the room, but quickly turned back towards a dresser on the right side of the room, when he realised the sound was coming from over there, "It's her computer." he told Dean. As he reached the computer, Sam opened the console and immediately saw a flashing icon on the desktop. The icon flashed in tune to the beeping; it wasn't an icon Sam had ever seen before and he didn't know what it was. Cautiously he used the mouse pad to open the program, "It's an email." he said, as the program opened and he realised he was looking at. The beeping stopped as soon as the program opened. "What should I do?" Sam asked Dean, he didn't want to invade Hope's privacy, but then again, she was gone.

"Open it." Dean replied; he felt a certain level of dread at what the email might contain. Neither he nor Sam really knew that much about Hope, having found her and had her in their lives for only a short time, before she had died. Sam opened the email and began reading it aloud so that Dean could hear.

 _My Dear Chayse,_

Dean's eyes went wide at hearing Hope's alias being used, 'it really shouldn't be that shocking' he thought to himself, 'she didn't want people to know who she was – she lived in fear for so long…' Dean stopped thinking about it and turned his full attention back to Sam, having missed the greetings section of the email.

 _I know you told me that you didn't want me to contact you again. But, I'm afraid things aren't good here. Something bad is happening and there just doesn't seem to be anyone coming to help. I know you told me that there are lots of good people out there and that I need not worry if certain 'things' happened again because someone like you or Robert would come along to help. It's just, three people are dead now and try as I might I can't see anyone new in town, who might be 'looking into things'. I tried to ring Robert, but the number was disconnected, and you are probably wondering how I got your email, well I rang him a long time ago, maybe a year after you left, and I asked him. I know you said I shouldn't look for you, but I just wanted to know if you were alright. Even after I got it though, I couldn't use it, but I kept it just in case and I somehow felt safer knowing that I had it. And now – it is definitely 'just in case' time. Please, Chayse, I wouldn't be asking if this wasn't something bad, I know better. If not for me, then please come for the town, for the people. Please. We need your help. Still yours, Harper._

Sam looked up at Dean as he finished the last sentence; Dean's eyes went wide as he mouthed the words, "Still yours…" at Sam, a questioning look on his face. Sam shook his head, slightly amused at his brother's antics and then he remembered, "I read about a Harper." he stated as he moved away from the computer on the dresser and walked over to the bedside table. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a journal, much like their fathers. Sam started flipping through the journal as Dean walked over, "What is that?" Dean asked his brother, pointing at the journal, Sam looked up hearing the confusion in his brother's voice, for a second he didn't understand what was wrong and then it dawned on him, "Whoops, another thing I forgot to tell you… sorry… This," Sam gestured to the journal he was holding, "is Hope's journal. It's exactly like Dad's. I found it one day when I was sitting in here after she…" Sam couldn't finish the sentence, his emotions getting the better of him. He took a moment to compose himself before he finished, "I probably shouldn't have looked at it, but I just missed her so much. It details quite a few of the 'things' she went after when helping hunters and…" he paused, not really for dramatic effect, but he definitely got it, "it has a list of all the hunters she 'helped'… three hundred and fifty-one… to be exact, it seems Monty was short a few stories." Sam was talking about Pete Montana, the hunter that had pointed the boys in the right direction when they were first looking to find their long lost sister.

Dean was not surprised that Hope had helped that many people; he was a little surprised there was a journal and he hadn't known about it. Sam stopped flicking as he finally found what he was looking for, "Here it is… Harper… a civilian…" he quickly read the entry before looking up at Dean, "It was a large pack of werewolves in Grand Junction, Colorado. That's about a ten-hour drive from here."

"What does it say about Harper?"

"What?" Sam asked, then, realising what his brother was after he added, "Nothing… Dean… it's not that type of journal. It's about cases and details on how to kill things. There are some notations and numbers in the margins, but I don't know what they mean. Probably never will, without Hope." Dean looked disappointed, seems he wouldn't be able to get to know his sister any better by reading the journal, just who she helped.

"What do you want to do?"

Dean cocked his head to the side, indicating he wasn't sure what Sam was asking, Sam sighed heavily before explaining himself, "Do we (a) stay here and keep trying to find out where in hell Hope is, (b) move on to the murder-suicides now we think we know what 'dire' means or (c) are we going on a road trip?" Sam lifted the journal up, highlighting what he meant by road trip.

"Oh… C… that's a no-brainer. Hope might not have wanted this 'Harper" to contact her, but she would never forgive us if we failed to help someone who was asking for it."

"Right…" Sam said glad his brother had said exactly what he wanted to hear, "Road trip, see you in the car in ten?" Dean nodded his assent and Sam handed the journal to Dean as he walked from the room. Dean flipped the journal around, looking carefully at its cover; the leather was well worn but someone had, a long time ago, scratched out two details on the front of it, a devils trap and the words 'my sunny boy'. As he traced the words with his right index finger, a single tear made its way down his cheek. A small movement at the door made him look up from the words on the journal.

"Dean… I'm sorry." Cass was apologising because now that Dean was looking at him, he could see that he had been crying and he didn't want to interfere, he turned and started to stumble away. Dean ran over to him, grabbing Castiel's arm and hoisting it around his own shoulders to support his friend, "Cass, what are you doing up? You need to rest."

"I just wanted to see what the noise had been about."

"Well, it was an email from a friend of Hopes, they were asking for help."

"And you're going, right?"

"Of course. When have Sammy and I ever turned down helping someone…" before Castiel could answer, he quickly added, "that doesn't include Chuck asking for some random help…on a 'dire' issue."

Castiel sighed heavily, he really wished Dean would refrain from calling God, Chuck, and that he would just try to see things or understand things from God's point of view. "What do you want me to do?" he asked Dean, as he was being led back to his own room.

"Nothing Cass. You need to rest and get better."

"I can't do nothing."

"Fine, you can lie in bed and read, then."

"Yes, I will research about how we can locate Hope's soul."

Dean whipped his head around, stopping suddenly to make his next point very clear, "No Cass… You have much more important things to do?" Castiel looked confused, so Dean added, "You need to read the archangel handbook and get a grip on your new skills."

"Dean…" a slightly exasperated Castiel responded, "I am not an archangel."

With a level of confidence that left absolutely no room for anyone to doubt him, Dean replied, "Yes you are Cass; you just don't know it yet."


	8. Chapter 8

The girl who answered the door was beautiful. She was five-four, maybe five-five, early thirties. She wore boyfriend jeans that were ripped across the thigh in three different spots; each rip showing just a little bit of skin. Up top, a Metallica shirt, which was old and faded and possibly a size too big for her; yet it suited her just fine. Her jet black hair sat just below the shoulder and it was dead straight, not a fizz, kink or twirl in sight. Her small, but perfectly sitting, black eyes scarcely took the boys in before she dismissed them both with, "I'm sorry boys; whatever you are selling, I am just not interested." As she closed the door in their faces, the girl went back to the conversation she was having with the mobile that was wedged between her head and shoulder.

Swallowing hard with the indignity of it all, Dean looked at Sam and Sam back at Dean. Both boys wore a sort of stunned ambushed look on their faces; Dean finally addressed what had happened, switching it up to full-blown disbelief, as he checked Sam out and then glanced down at himself, "Do we look like travelling salesmen?" he asked, smacking his hand in the air as he spoke. Sam shook his head, no, before he reached out and banged hard, on the door, three more times.

The boys had travelled nonstop to reach Grand Junction, Colorado in just under ten hours. It was almost morning, but the sun hadn't hit the horizon yet, as the boys pulled into a fine looking motel, right on the edge of town, opposite a greasy looking diner whose sign simply read, "Ginger's". The boys had rested, catching a bit more shuteye, than they got during the long drive, as they took turns showering and getting ready for the day. Sam had done some nifty computer work, backtracking the email to Hope in order to find a surname, then, an address in town for one, Harper Olliston. After breakfast, and lots of coffee, the boys had headed straight over to find Harper, only to have the door, slammed in their face by a very pretty girl.

"I told you before…" the girl started to say as she answered the door, for the second time, but Sam cut her off, "Ma'am, ah, we are not salesmen…" he said as he pointed to Dean and himself. "My apologies," the girl stated; looking the boys up and down and perhaps obviously seeing his mistake. "Look… whatever it is, I'm kind of in the middle of a crisis here, can you just go on to the next house…" she added, pointing to her phone, to let them know that the crisis must be on the other end of the line.

"No." Dean barked, pushing back on the door as she started to close it, forcing it open again, "We can't just go on to the next house… We need this house. We are looking for Harper. Do you know where Harper is?" Dean spoke the last words very slowly, trying to calm the annoyed feeling he was getting. "Why do you want Harper?" the girl asked as she looked carefully at Dean, her right hand still held the mobile phone, but she seemed to have forgotten that she was on a call. "We are here because Chayse got…" before Dean could finish his sentence, the girl all but yelled, "Chayse sent you. Oh my god, you're here to help. I'm so sorry. Please come in, come in." Into her phone, the girl quickly said, "I'll have to call you back."

The girl lead the boys through the main hall and into a back sitting room, "I can make some coffee or tea, do you want anything?" she asked them both, suddenly nervous or so it seemed to Dean and Sam, they exchanged quick glances before Sam answered, "No Ma'am, we just need to see Harper." The girls face dropped, which confused the brothers, "I'm Harper," she said softly, "but you would know that if Chayse had sent you." A sudden sadness, etched with fear, could be seen in the girl's whole body, her eyes especially mirrored the loss that her soul was feeling, "She's dead, isn't she?" The look between the brothers let her know that she was right and she dropped to the floor, her world collapsing in on her. Sam almost caught her as she fell, but in the end, he had to scoop her up off the floor and walk, or half carry her over to a long orange couch that leaned up against the far wall. Harper wasn't crying, in fact, she wasn't doing anything, she was just gone, lost in her mind, in her thoughts and memories of Chayse.

After a while Sam pushed her for some information, trying to bring her back to them, "You knew her well?" he asked softly as he touched her shoulder. Harper looked up at Sam, her small eyes wide and empty, then, slowly she turned her face to look at Dean, after staring at him for what seemed an age, and just as the whole situation became uncomfortable, she whispered to Dean, "You have her eyes…"

Tears sprang to Dean's own eyes and he turned suddenly so that Sam and Harper would not see. Harper realising the pain that he was in, as her own, turned back to Sam, "and you? Are you her brother as well? She never said she had brothers?"

"She didn't know." Sam answered her, a chilling sadness in the three words he spoke.

"It figures. Not that she told me much. In fact, I barely knew her, but I was… am, still… in love with her." Harper started crying then; there was no noise, just silent tears, each one carrying a memory from her mind to her heart, which only brought about more tears. Sam looked up to see if Dean had heard Harper's last statement and the pair locked eyes, not knowing what to do or say next. Harper carried the conversation for them, through her tears; the fondness she spoke with melted the brother's hearts, "She blew into town. Saved Robert's life; a werewolf almost killed him. He introduced her to me, as the 'girl wannabe'. It was a joke, their joke. I mean, she was probably twenty-six or twenty-seven. They knew each other well, that much was clear. He adored her; as if she was his own daughter and she… she loved him like a father. Giving him grief for drinking too much and not being as careful as he should be. At the time, it seemed so normal. But later… later I wondered if he really knew her that well. She could be so distant and she made sure that no matter what… you couldn't help her. I thought it was just me, but I'm sure now that Robert felt it too, just the way he spoke sometimes. In the years after. We, Robert and I, kept in touch, for a while…" Dean and Sam were hanging off every word Harper was saying; Harper just watched the floor as she spoke, reliving each moment she described. "Two people had been killed before Robert had turned up in town. I was the manager of the inn where he was staying. He saved my life and then had to sit me down to have his 'talk' about things that go bump in the night. My life was never the same after that. Of course, I wanted to help, but he would have nothing to do with me. I was the one who told Chayse where he was when she turned up. My god but she was beautiful." Harper retreated then, back into her mind, remembering Chayse all over again, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

Sam sat beside Harper, quietly stroking her back, as the tears fell. Dean watched on from across the room, unable to find the words that would fit in that silence. The tears slowed and Harper continued her story, "The three of us sat around coming up with places that the pack might be hiding. The two of them would go off looking, each time coming back empty. Then this one time, they found what they were looking for. They came back a complete mess. I tended to Roberts wounds first, and he soon went off to bed, then I helped Chayse. I asked her if she would be leaving now, not really wanting to hear her answer, but already knowing, a knot growing in my heart. She was a free spirit, with many secrets and she had kept me at arm's length the whole time we were together, making sure to control what we were to each other. She told me that she couldn't stay. Not that she didn't want to, but that to stay, would put me in danger and she wouldn't have that. I remember starting to cry, telling her I would gladly take the danger if it meant I got to have her, but she just pulled me in tight and held me until the tears stopped. We had that one… perfect night… and when I woke up in the morning, she was gone. I never saw her again."

Silence returned to the room, the trio now lost in their own thoughts. The light dimmed as the day wore on; Harper rose and made her way to the kitchen. Sam followed wary of what she might do, given the loss she had experienced today. "Tea… or coffee?" she asked him when she heard him enter the room behind her. "Coffee." he replied quietly. As she started to make the coffee, Harper asked, "When did she die?" Sam's heart sank, how could he hurt this girl any more than she was already hurting, Harper took that job away from him too, "So, not long ago, right?" Sam nodded. He understood immediately what Hope would have seen in her. How refreshing she was, without even trying. How she thought quickly and knew how to put you at ease, no matter what might be happening in her own life, like the thought that if she had reached out sooner, she might have been able to see the love of her life, one more time.

Dean came in from the sitting room at that moment, he was carrying a framed photograph, "This is Chayse." He stated, showing Harper the picture. Sam thought it was odd, Dean pushing Harper on something that hardly mattered; of course, Dean would have recognised Hope's picture, why did he need Harper to confirm it? "Yes, with Robert and I, outside the inn." Harper smiled slightly as she remembered having the picture taken, what a wonderful day that had been, but the smile slipped away as she realised she would never have that again. Sam was still confused by Dean's behaviour until Dean passed him the frame. Sam turned it around to look at the picture and his eyes went wide in surprise; there was no mistaking it. Hope was in the middle, a small smile on her face. To her right was Harper, looking radiant in another pair of faded jeans and a black shirt, this time showing some Acca Dacca love; her arm wrapped around Hope's waist. All pretty ordinary, however, the most amazing thing about the picture was the man on the other side of Hope, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, a massive smile on his face. Bobby Singer. Sam shook his head; he looked up and found Dean staring at him, taking in his reaction, feeling it again, as if it were his own. The two of them stood in silence, staring at each other. If it weren't for the picture, neither would have believed it.

The silence was broken when Harper put two coffee mugs down on the island that sat in the middle of the kitchen. "Drink up!" she ordered the boys.


	9. Chapter 9

"So you think the werewolves are back?"

The trio had moved back to the sitting room after drinking their coffees and were now drinking beer. There had been a fair bit of quiet time as Harper came to terms with the loss of Chayse, aka Hope; the boys still had not told her that that was not even her real name. Sam and Dean had exchanged many covert looks, both itching to retreat and discuss the fact that Bobby and Hope knew each other. While Harper had given the boys more details about the werewolf issue, and she had explained why she needed help now. Three mysterious deaths in an old soap factory that the firm she worked for were renovating into new, bespoke, warehouse-style apartments; for their part, the boys had explained to Harper, how they had come across her emailed request for help.

"Well… not really. I mean. These deaths aren't like werewolf attacks, their hearts aren't missing, for starters, and all three of them have been killed in different ways…" Harper answered Sam's question, and now she sat looking at him, waiting for the next question, but Dean asked instead, "How were they killed?" Harper looked over at Dean and took a deep breath, steadying herself, before answering, "The first one was a drifter; he was squatting in the old Soap factory before we started any of the work. It was about six weeks ago, I guess. Someone cut his throat so deep it almost decapitated him. The police think that another drifter did it but they have no leads at all. The next one was a labourer who was working with the demolition crew; they are the men who go in and take everything inside the building apart, knocking down walls and stuff that won't be required in the final plans. This was just four days ago. He was found hanging in one of the internal spaces." Harper took another deep breath, before continuing. "The lead detective labelled that a suicide, but the other cop was asking all sorts of questions, like, for example, how did he actually do it, given that there was nothing for the guy to stand on to get the noose on and there was no way he climbed up to the rafters and then jumped."

"No ladders? Or could he have climbed down from a higher level?" Sam asked; Harper shook her head from side to side, before adding, "The younger cop thinks someone came in and killed him, but the lead dude, he said that was all but impossible; after the drifter's death we had that place locked down tighter than a military base. The big bosses did not want any more incidents that might jeopardise the project and ultimately cost them millions. So… there is only one gate in and we have a guard on it, taking down the names of all visitors. Actually, he found the body; at about eight o'clock, that night, he realised the James, that is the labourer, had not signed out, so the guard called him but the phone just rang out. That is when he decided to go on rounds, to see if he could find him."

"And the third death?" Dean asked.

"Tripp…" Harper nearly lost it again, emotion welling up as she remembered, "He was a nice guy. So helpful and really, hard working. He was a boilermaker and he was trying to work out what the building would need to bring it up to code. Tripp had been working while the demolition crew were around; so that once they were done, the work could begin in earnest. The PTB's want this building up and running ASAP, it's all about the money."

"The PTB's?" Sam queried before Harper could continue her story.

"The powers that be… the big bosses…" Sam showed that he understood and Harper finished her story. "Best they can tell, Tripp died due to massive blood loss… only… he didn't have any injuries… nada… not one… If that's not supernatural, then I don't know what is?" Dean and Sam exchanged looks; the case was confusing already, three deaths, all strange, but not really linked in any way except for the building.

"Ghosts?" Dean asked his brother; Sam nodded as he answered Dean, "It's certainly possible. A haunting, but the deaths should be more similar. Either way, we'll need to go and check it out. Could be demons?" as Dean agreed with Sam, Harper's eyes went wide, "Ghosts? Demons?" she said choking on the words. Dean cocked his head on the side before asking, "I thought Bob…" he quickly corrected himself, before Harper noticed; Dean did not want to be explaining their whole life to this girl, "I thought Robert sat you down and had the talk?" Harper nodded, "Yeah, about werewolves and vampires and stuff. But ghosts and demons, he never said anything about that…" Harper's body shuddered at the mere thought and her world was rocked once again.

Sam's eyebrows drew together as he bit down on his lower lip; he was trying to hide a smile that was brewing, he didn't mean to laugh at Harper, it was just her looks of distress were kind of cute and oh so innocent. Shaking his head, to push the smile away, Sam looked over at his brother and said, "We should get moving then."

Dean nodded and stood up ready to leave.

"Wait… Are you going there now? All of the deaths happened at night and… it is night! Now!" Harper cried out at them.

Sam almost laughed aloud this time, coughing to cover it; Dean looked at him with mock distaste before he turned to Harper and flippantly said, "Best time to catch Ghosts."

"But…"

"It's ok Harper, we will be fine. This is what we do." Sam had recovered from his girlish fit and was trying to calm Harper down. "Look, is there any history on the soap factory?"

"Like what?"

"Like did anyone die there, over the years?" Dean's voice came out a bit gruffer than he had intended; he just wanted to get going now.

"No."

"You're sure?" Sam asked, puzzled that she seemed so sure of her answer.

"Yeah. Well, there was one death," Dean rolled his eyes at Sam; could she be any vaguer, he thought, "A guy was killed by one of the machines in the work line; he got caught in it and was kind of mauled to death, or something. But, nothing after that because they shut the factory down, just three weeks into the start-up and it's sat there, vacant, ever since… until now."

"Do you know anything else about the building?" Sam asked as Dean started tapping his foot, he really wanted to leave now. Sam looked over at Dean, giving him a look that told him to cut it out. Dean shrugged back at him but continued tapping.

Harper, unaware of what was happening between the boys, added, "It's like, ninety years old…" Sam nodded encouraging her to continue, when she didn't he asked, "Anything else…" the blank look on Harper's face had Sam asking another question, "What was there before the soap factory?" "Nothing…" Harper answered immediately. Sam was ready to give up too; he and Dean could do their own research, "Ok… Well, we should be going if we want to check the place out. Can you call ahead and tell the guard to let us in?"

"I'll come with you."

"No…" Dean blurted out. Harper was shocked by Dean's outburst, but Sam recovered well, "It's just, Chayse would be really annoyed with us if we put you in any danger… So…" Harper nodded that she understood. She agreed to call the guard and asked when she would see them again. Sam told her that they would call her if they needed anything and would let her know, as soon as they knew what they were up against. Harper hoped that they would work it out fast because after Tripp's death, even though the police had shut down the whole project, the big bosses were eager to start work again and she was worried that starting work again would mean somebody else would die.

Dean and Sam walked down the garden path, out to the street, where the Impala was sitting under a street lamp. Sam pulled open the passenger door and waited, while Dean walked around the front of the car to the driver's side. Dean, looking over the roof of the car at his brother, asked, "Bobby?" It was a loaded question. One word that encapsulated everything he was feeling and everything that had been on his mind the entire time they had been in the house. Sam sighed before admitting, "I know…" as he shook his head, in wonderment, in confusion, in happiness and sadness, there were so many good things about it, but mostly he just had questions. Questions, that he knew, they would never have any answers for, not now. Dean let out a deep breath, one that he felt he had been holding for hours now, the tension slowly drained from his body as he realised that Sam felt the same way he did, and this made it just a little easier to deal with. "And…" he added, unsure how to ask the question other than to just, blurt it out, "Did we know that Hope was gay?" Sam shook his head, he had definitely not noticed that but he offered Dean this one thing, "No… but, I'm beginning to think the two of you were more alike than I thought…"

Dean glared at his brother, his face asking his brother, 'what the hell?' while his mind raced over the implications of that statement. Was his brother, was Sammy, saying that he, Dean, was…

"Love em' and leave em'…" Sam, with raised eyebrows, finally added, seeing his brother had taken the bait, hook line and sinker, and now, he could let him off. Dean scoffed. "Wait… what did you think I meant?" Sam asked, acting all innocent.

"Get in the car." Dean growled before lowering himself into the Impala and pulling the door shut. Sam chuckled to himself, but Dean heard it, "Car… Now…" he growled again. Sam got in the car and Dean brought the engine to life and roared off down the street, probably waking the neighbours, given the hour, but he did not care about that right now.

The trip to the factory was about twenty minutes; as the boys arrived, the solidly built guard ambled out of the small hut that was beside the gate. Dean rolled down the window and after a quick discussion, the guard went back to the hut and the gate started to roll across to the right, which allowed Dean to drive onto the lot. He turned the car around, reversing it tight up against the building, just in front of the main entrance; for a quick getaway and to hide what they would be taking out of the boot, in case the guard was watching them. They had already asked Harper about cameras and any forms of surveillance that might be around, Harper had assured them there wasn't any; the PTB's were too tight for that, at least while the building was just a shell.

Dean and Sam both grabbed a shorn-off shotgun and plenty of salt rounds; there was no telling what they might find inside. Both also carried EMF readers and their small torches were turned on, ready to guide the way in the dark interior. Dean entered the building first, followed closely by Sam, "Let's stick together." Sam asserted. "Are you kidding me… that is going to take all night, a place this big? We split up, cover the ground faster; work out what or who is haunting this place and then back down until we can salt and burn the body." Dean countered. "I'll take the left side of the building, you take the right," he added before he peeled off to the left moving through the mainly open floor plan that had been left behind by the demolition crew.

The old soap factory was essentially the same height as a six-storey building however, it was only, made up of four flights, each with equally high ceilings, which made its conversion to a warehouse apartment block appealing. The main entrance was dead centre and walked into an open main reception area, behind which was a series of smaller rooms where clerks and administrative personnel would have worked, if the place had ever become operational. To the left, where Dean was heading, were the bigger offices, where salespeople, lead scientists and the like would have had office space. Behind that, the first quarter of the building was floor space where the actual making of the soap would have occurred; the so-called factory floor. When the business was starting up, it would have been full of vats and machinery. The workspace ran the width of the building and all the way down the back and was comprised of only two levels; the space was vast and nearly devoid of any walls, a few, very thick pillars were the only structures left and these were holding up the second floor and the roof itself. The other half of the front of the building was more office space, a veritable rabbit warren of corridors and small rooms that would have housed all the other workers, bar those on the factory floor.

 **Dean's Night**

Dean found a door that opened onto the staircase leading up to the second level of the factory floor; taking the stairs two at a time, his gun resting carefully in front of him, he made his way up. The stairs wove upwards and then turned back on themselves before another door barred the way. Dean opened it slowly, his gun ready, to find himself standing on the second floor of the factory part of the building. This floor was more like a mezzanine level, a floating floor that consisted of suspended platforms, from which the scientists or workers could take samples from the vats or add in chemicals as needed. Dean looked over the edge of the platform he found himself standing on and saw that the ground was a very long drop below. Shaking his head, and whispering quietly to himself, about being careful, he moved forward with stealth.

He had made it across the first platform, to where a more solid wall appeared to be floating mid-air. In the middle of the wall, was a closed door. Dean pulled on the handle softly and the door opened outward with a loud creak. Inside he realised he was standing in an old control booth of sorts. This is where everything would have been monitored from, windows looked out along the length of both factory floors and nothing would have been missed from this vantage point. On his left, Dean noticed another door and made his way over to it, his gun always ready. As he neared the door, his EMF detector started going ballistic. Dean dragged it out of his pocket and shut the racket off. His head swinging from left to right, following the beam of white light being emitted from his torch, but he could not see anything. Dean opened the door carefully; he was now standing in a hallway, which was open to the factory itself, a change in the air indicated this fact clearly. There was a series of doors to his left, the wall of the control room on his right. Dean opened the first door on his left and walked in the room. It had probably been a conference room, it was long and kind of skinny, another door exited it at the far end, Dean was just about to turn back, deciding there was nothing to see here when the door slammed shut. Dean cursed softly, as he reached out to open the door again; turning the handle had no effect, the door was jammed or locked. Dean heaved on the door, but nothing happened, he turned quickly and ran for the door at the other end of the room. He grabbed the handle yanking hard on the door, but it too would not open. As Dean stepped back to assess the situation, he felt the temperature of the room drop suddenly. A haze of mist floated in front of his face as he exhaled slowly. The hair, on the back of his neck, rose and he slowly spun around to face the room.

Nothing.

And then…

A spirt.

No, not just one spirit, two spirits.

Standing there, staring at him.

One, a smallish looking girl of about twenty years old, or so; the other a much taller, gangly even, male, who must have been forty years old, or so, when he died.

They watched him carefully.

He watched them back.

Reaching into his pocket, very slowly, he pulled out his phone and dialled Sam, one eye on the spirits, the other on the phone. The phone rang in his hand, and he pushed the button to activate the speakerphone. It happened, just as he heard the phone pick up, a spirit rushed at Dean. He had been so busy keeping an eye on the spirits in front of him that he hadn't even seen the one to his side.

It had been a very large man, with a balding head and heavyset eyes. Now, it was particularly grotesque with greyed out features and black-rimmed eyes. It was one seriously pissed off spirit. The spirit launched Dean into the air as it collided heavily with him; Dean went straight through the wall of the room and suddenly found himself back in the hallway outside. Pain shot through his shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the impact, on both walls, the wall he came through and the one he smashed into. Dean groaned as the pain raced out of his shoulder and down his spine. He had just managed to roll himself over when he was lifted up into the air and thrown down the hallway. Dean had no chance, he bounced once at the end of the hallway before rolling hard and falling head first down the staircase that leads to the ground floor of the factory. The crashing sound Dean's body made, as it rolled and bounced its way down the stairs, echoed across the floor. When he hit the ground, after that long fall, his body had so much momentum that it was propelled clean across the factory floor another twelve feet or so. Rolling over, and over as it flew across the ground. When his body lost its momentum, Dean was still conscious, barely, and he found himself facing the stairs he had just fallen down.

The room was dark, but Dean could just make out the three spirits, standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at him. Afraid they were going to come for him again, Dean tried to move, but found the pain was consuming his willpower, he slumped back to the floor; looking back to see where the spirits were, Dean noticed that they hadn't moved an inch. Watching them, watch him, Dean had a sudden thought, he tried to stick with it, but the pain got the better of him and he passed out.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean stirred suddenly in his sleep causing the bedsheet that was resting lightly on the left side of his face, to slip. The movement jumpstarted Dean's adrenaline gland and his arm shot out, punching at the sheet and the air around him, as he thought that something was attacking him. Pain seared through Dean's chest and shot down his back, he slumped back, breathing in short quick puffs, trying to alleviate the pain in some way. When the first wave of agony died down, Dean opened his eyes, gingerly raised his head and had a look around. He quickly realised he was in the motel room, Sam and he had booked into yesterday. He let his head flop back down on the pillow behind it. As he did so he realised something strange about the room, lifting his head again he understood what it was, he was lying the wrong way on the bed, his feet where his head should be and vice versa.

Dean lay on the bed, isolating each part of his body, trying to work out what might be broken before deciding if it was safe to try to get up. 'Clearly, Sam is not here' he thought to himself, 'or he would have said something already'. Dean decided to move and instantly regretted it as another wave of fresh agony tortured his body. He pushed through it though, hoping it might feel better if he were standing; he knew some of his ribs were cracked.

Breathing through clenched teeth, Dean fought the pain until just a heavy rhythmic throbbing was all he could feel. The door behind him opened and the person who walked in cheerfully called, "Good Morning."

"If you say so…" Dean muttered trying to relax his jaw, after the build-up of tension the pain had created.

"How are you feeling, princess?" Sam asked, trying to mask his true concern with his choice of question. He had just been out to the warehouse, to retrieve the guns and Dean's phone, so that nothing could trace back to them. On the way back to the motel, he had stopped for some breakfast.

"Like crap…" Dean replied, before continuing, "You put me in here?" he asked pointing to the bed he was currently sitting on.

"Yeah. You fell asleep at the table."

Dean thought back through the night, remembering that he had been trying to stay awake in case he had a concussion, but he had told Sam to get some rest because he looked like crap.

"So you couldn't put me in the right way?"

"Dude, you are, way, heavier than you look…"

Dean tried to laugh, but instead, his body was racked with pain, Sam moved quickly to be by his side, "You right?" he asked, this time the concern was evident, plastered all over his face and dripping in the tone of his voice.

"I'm fine…" Dean swatted Sam's hand away from his shoulder, and the pain washed over him again, 'got to move less' he screamed at himself in his mind. His breathing sped up as he tried to ride the waves of pain, unsuccessfully. Sam reached for his shoulder again, "It's your chest, isn't it? Let me have a look…" he blurted as he reached down to get the bottom of Dean's shirt. Dean grabbed his hand to stop him, he slowly took control of his breathing before he said, "It's fine. Cracked ribs. You taped them last night."

Dean released Sam's hand; Sam took his hand back and stood slowly, watching his brother closely as he did so. Sam wasn't sure what to do, Dean talked down his injuries; always pretending they were less than they were, but what could he do; have an argument with him? Not right now, he decided, before moving back over to the table by the door. Grabbing the paper bag, and the large takeaway cup of coffee that he had put there, he took them back over to Dean, "Breakfast." he stated as he handed him the bag. Sam watched the effort it took Dean just to live his arm up to take the bag, he almost said something, but caught himself just in time, instead he moved over to the bedside table and placed the coffee there.

Dean put the bag down beside him, scrunching his face up at the pain that small movement caused. He knew that Sam was watching him, so he tried to cover it up. "I didn't find anything last night." Dean had been researching the soap factory last night, in an effort to stay awake. "Nothing?" Sam repeated it as a question. Dean shook his head, "Nothing. The building is about ninety-five years old, just the one death, like Harper said. Dude was crushed to death by a machine, his body was cremated. So nothing to salt and burn…"

"The floor was wooden, maybe his blood is there."

"Maybe, but like I said last night, there were at least three spirits. So… where did they come from?" Dean added.

Sam thought about it for a while before he shrugged his shoulders, his face emphasising the words he used next, "I got nothing."

"Yeah, it's going around."

Sam walked back over to the table and sat down, opening his computer as he did so. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean try to stand up; the pain was obviously worse than he thought because he sat back down almost immediately. Sam turned to look over at him then, "I'm fine, Sammy." Dean stated having seen Sam's head whip around and obviously wanting to stop him from asking more questions. "If you say so…" Sam replied, still watching his brother.

"What happened to you last night?" Dean asked, hoping to take Sam's mind off him and put it back into the case.

"Well…"

 **Sam's Night**

Dean entered the building first, followed closely by Sam, "Let's stick together." Sam asserted. "Are you kidding me… that is going to take all night, a place this big? We split up, cover the ground faster; work out what or who is haunting this place and then back down until we can salt and burn the body." Dean countered. "I'll take the left side of the building, you take the right." he added. Sam stood still, as Dean peeled off to the left, moving through the mainly open floor plan that had been left behind by the demolition crew. 'Great' he thought to himself, 'Walk through a haunted building, all by yourself… what could go wrong? Nothing… it's all good, we'll just check it out, get a glimpse, go and salt and burn the body. We'll be out of here tomorrow, nothing, ever, goes, wrong, on, these, things!' Sam was ranting to himself, before he realised he was now all alone, still standing just inside the front door.

Lifting his gun up into the ready position, his torch snug in between his left hand and the gun, to lead the way, he peeled off to the right. He opened the first door he came to and found himself in a hallway, with several doors leading off it including one at the far end. As he moved, Sam opened each room and had a look inside; every single door, office spaces. All different sizes and all empty gutted back to bare bones. Sam was surprised they had left the walls up, or maybe this is where the demolition crew should have done next. The last two doors on his right were toilets, his and hers obviously and the door at the end of the hall led into a rather large room, massive big glass windows. This was either a conference room or the office of some sort of bigwig.

It was empty too.

Sam moved onto the doors on the other side of the hallway. Closet space or a small room that would have housed a small human. Two more rooms, maybe lunchrooms or something and then the final doorway led to another small hallway, which was directly perpendicular to the one he had just come from. About halfway along the hallway, the wall fell away and a staircase climbed upwards. Sam decided to go up, reasoning that the door at the end of the hallway probably led out to the factory floor, which was at the back of the building; Sam had seen some preliminary floor plans of the building online.

The stairway took Sam all the way to the top of the building. At each new level, there was a small foyer that led off the stairs, beyond which were more hallways and doors. When he reached the top floor, Sam moved into the foyer and had a look around. This floor was different from all the rest. The space here was one massive big room. With a few partitions scattered around to divide the space. Sam reasoned that this might have been a research and development lab, where they worked out what to put in the soap or did tests for quality control.

Sam was about halfway down the room, when his phone started buzzing. He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID, Dean. Hitting the accept button, Sam puts the phone to his ear and stated, "I'm not done yet…" he paused waiting for Dean to chastise him for taking his time, or some stupid joke about how slow he is because he's so tall. Instead, all he heard was a whole lot of nothing, "Dean?" he called into the phone, the response shocked him into action because it wasn't Dean's voice but rather a 'whoomping' sound, the kind you hear when two bodies smash into each other. A very loud crashing sound quickly followed the first noise; it was so loud Sam could almost feel it. Spinning quickly Sam took off in the direction of the staircase. He stumbled on a cord that snaked across the ground and took a dive across the floor; the torch bouncing and shutting off, Sam managed to hold onto his gun. What to do? Go for Dean, or, look for the torch.

Sam jumped to his feet, a decision made, he took off for the staircase, fiddling with his phone as he ran, trying to turn its light on. This light was not as good as the torch, but at least he would see something on the staircase. Sam took the stairs two at a time and hit the bottom much faster than it had taken him to climb. He turned right and made for the door he had seen earlier; he slammed into it forcing it open and suddenly he was in a very large room. He couldn't see that much in the small dome of light that was given off by his phone, but the echo each step made as he ran, gave it away.

"Dean…" he yelled.

No response.

Sam kept running; he decided he would run the full length of the building, across the factory floor and then he would head back into the left side of the building, clearing the first floor before he headed up; searching for his brother.

"Dean…"

Still nothing.

Sam was breathing hard now, he could just make out the end of the building about sixty feet ahead, when suddenly he was knocked off his feet from behind.

Sam sprawled across the floor, dropping both the gun and his phone. He rolled quickly as he felt the fall slowing and managed to stumble back up into a standing position, his eyes scanning the area in front of him before he spun quickly to check what was behind him.

Nothing.

He spun back to face the way he had just come from.

Nothing.

And then.

A spirit.

A huge thug of a thing.

Just standing there, about fifty feet from the end of the building.

Watching him.

Sam kept an eye on him, as he tried to scan the floor for the gun, he knew where the phone was judging by the light it was throwing on his new found friend.

Finally, he eyed the gun about three feet in front of the spirit. As he saw it, something dripped into his eye.

Sam reached up and wiped it away, wincing in pain as he hit the open cut on his temple.

Now what?

He needed the gun if he and Dean were going to stand any chance of getting out of here.

But.

Decision made.

Sam inched towards the spirit that just stood its ground.

'What the…?' Sam thought as he moved forward, 'why is it just standing there?' as he neared the gun, Sam crouched down to pick it up. The spirit 'glitched out' and faded from sight. Sam didn't care, he grabbed the gun, moved over to pick up the phone and resumed his search for his brother.

"Dean…" he called frantically,

As he rounded the corner, about thirty feet from the end of the building, Sam saw what looked like a body on the ground. "Dean…" he yelled again, fear making his voice sound gruffer and deeper than usual.

The body just lay there.

Sam ran for the body; it was Dean. Sam knelt down beside him feeling for a pulse.

Yes.

He was still alive.

Barely.

"Dean?" he asked, shaking his brother's shoulder to see if he could rouse him.

No response.

Now he really had a problem.

He couldn't hold the gun, phone and drag Dean out of the building. "Dammit…" he cried out, frustrated at the situation he now found himself in, "It'll be quicker if we split up, you said…" Sam was talking to Dean as if he were awake, "We'll cover more ground. Course you went and got your stupid arse hurt… didn't you… and now I have to save you, shoot ghosts and get us the hell out of here…" Sam had put his gun and phone on the ground on either side of Dean; he quickly hoisted his brother up and over his shoulder before reaching back down to pick up the gun and phone, "Let me just say I'm sorry, in advance, if I drop you… just putting that out there… don't expect another apology later…" Sam grumbled as he set off under the weight, towards the front of the building.

Before he had gone twenty feet the 'thug' spirit, appeared right in front of Sam and reaching out it grabbed his jacket, spinning him around quickly, which caused him to do two things. One, lose his balance toppling quickly down onto his left knee, which hit the ground with a smacking sound and caused a sharp lightning-like pain to shoot up his thigh and radiate across his back and two; Sam dropped Dean. Dean hit the ground with a crunch, letting out a loud groan that Sam could just hear over the whip-like cracking noise of the shotgun releasing its salt rounds into the spirit.

"Dean?" he cried out, trying to turn back to his brother, further hurting his knee in the process.

Another groan.

Dean tried to roll, but gave up, letting out a strangled cry as the pain reared its ugly head. Dean was definitely awake now and hating every minute of it.

"What is going on in here?" yelled a voice from the far end of the factory floor.

Sam could just make out the spot of a torch, bouncing slightly as its bearer walked towards him. "Don't come in here…" Sam yelled a warning at the man; he presumed it was the guard, but he couldn't be sure of that, "You need to get out of the building now… you are in…"

Just then, the light flew up through the air, before hitting its peak and tumbling back to ground level where it bounced several times. Sam didn't hear the sound of the torch hitting the floor because the screams of the man were just too loud; too terrifyingly loud with a screech like quality that made all the hairs on one's neck stand on end. The screams lasted a long time, fading only as the man was taken further and further away from where Sam half stood, half crouched in fear.

"Can you walk?" Sam asked his brother.

"I can try…" came the strained reply.

Sam passed the phone to Dean, before he carefully hoisted him up into a standing position, propping his arm over his shoulder so he could half carry, half drag his brother out of the building. Sam leaned over again, to pick up the shotgun.

Again, they had barely gone a few feet before another spirit appeared and charged the pair; Sam raised the gun and fired. The ghost dissipated into nothing.

Two more steps.

Same thing.

This time though the ghost got close enough and managed to grab Dean by the throat before it started choking him.

Dean started struggling for breath; Sam, relieved now of the weight of Dean on his shoulder, stepped back and to the side before he raised the gun and blasted.

Dean fell to the ground as the spirit smoke out.

There was no noise.

Why was there no noise?

Sam darted back to Dean's side. "Dean?"

No response.

Sam checked; Dean was still alive, just out for the count.

Again.

'Great' thought Sam, 'could this get any worse?'

Sam regretted the thought immediately, as a spirit materialised right in front of him.

Bang.

He shot it.

Dust.

'And,' he thought, 'that was my last round…'

Sam made his move then, scooping up the phone, he hoisted Dean up, throwing his arm over his shoulders again, and pulling him up by the waist. This time though he ran, dragging Dean, towards the back of the building, rather than the front.

It was a good call, no ghosts appeared and as he hit the far wall, he saw a door. Sam struggled with the door but finally managed to barge it open. Dragging Dean outside, he dumped him, rather unceremoniously, on the ground just outside. From there he rifled through Dean's pockets until he had the keys to the Impala, then he ran around to the front of the building to bring the car back to Dean.

Dean was conscious again when Sam returned with the car, which made it much easier for Sam to get him up and into the passenger side of the car. Dean grunted with the pain, but Sam was just keen on getting the hell out of there to care too much.

"Stay awake man…" he warned his brother.

"Yeah yeah…" Dean mumbled.

The boys had barely made it out of the lot before Dean lost consciousness again, "Dean… Dean…" Sam yelled, trying to rouse his brother, he reached over with his right arm and slapped Dean's face, hard. "What the…" came the sharp cry from Dean. "I told you to stay awake… I'm taking you to a hospital."

"No… Sammy. I'm fine." Dean said, slurring his words a little as he spoke.

"Like hell, you're fine Dean. You need a hospital."

"No. I need our motel room and a hot shower. I'll be fine."

"Dean…" Sam pleaded with his brother.

"No! End of…"

Sam took the next right, which would take them back to the motel if things deteriorated during the night; he decided would knock his brother out himself and then take him to the hospital.

Sam stopped the car outside their room and ran around to help Dean get out. As he got his brother inside he asked, "Bed? Lie down?"

"No…" Dean replied, "I think I've cracked some ribs." Dean grimaced suddenly as a fresh wave of pain swallowed up his body, he finished his sentence through clenched teeth, "They need taping…"

Sam taped up Dean's ribs and then helped him sit down at the table, reminding him that he needed to stay awake. "Yeah yeah. I got it the first time…" he spat out. Sam was relieved, Dean was sounding better. Suddenly the pressure of the night and the frantic search for his brother caught up with him and he wavered where he stood, "You… on the other hand, should get some sleep… You look like crap…"

"Thanks…" Sam grimaced at Dean's description; he did feel completely spent. Sam moved over to the bed, where he promptly flopped down, and just before it was lights out he heard his brother say, "Thanks for saving me, Sammy." and then, all was dark.

 **Now**

"So yeah, a rough night, hey?" Sam looked over at his brother, who nodded slightly before he gingerly lay down on the bed, wincing as the pain engulfed him. Noticing the paper bag Sam asked, "Aren't you going to eat your breakfast? It's a bacon roll."

"Nah…" Dean whispered softly as his eyes closed, his breathing slowed suddenly.

"Dean…" Sam cried as he quickly stood and rushed over to his brother. "Dean…" he yelled the word this time, standing right beside his brother, reaching down to grab his shoulders.

Dean was unresponsive.

And, not breathing.

* * *

The End... ?

hmm


	11. Chapter 11

"911, what is your emergency?"

"My brother has collapsed, he is at Benedict's Motel, out on Main, opposite Ginger's, room 215."

"A vehicle has been dispatched to your location, sir. Can you give me…" Sam hung the phone up and continued mouth to mouth on his brother.

Two breaths.

Shaking Dean's shoulders again, calling out his name, Sam started praying.

 _Cass, can you hear me? Dean's hurt. Bad. He needs you._

Leaning over Dean again, Sam gave him two more breaths, before continuing his prayer. He told Castiel where they were and then all he could do was wait. "Dammit Dean…" he cried, "come back to me you bastard, this… is… not… how… you… die…" leaning down again, he took a deep breath to transfer to Dean's lungs, hopefully keeping him alive. On the second breath, Dean started coughing.

"Finally…" Sam muttered, "Don't you dare leave me again."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief; Dean was still not out of the woods, but at least he was breathing on his own. Reaching down, Sam lifted Dean's shirt up, what he saw, left him in shock; the entire right side of Dean's body was deep purple in colour. He was bleeding internally.

 _Cass… are you there? Come on… Dean needs you… Now!_

In the distance, Sam could hear a siren. He ran for the door, propping it open with the chair before returning to his brother. Sam lay his hand carefully on Dean's chest, checking that he hadn't stopped breathing in the short space of time that he had been over at the door.

No.

Still breathing.

When the siren stopped suddenly, Sam yelled out, "In here!" The paramedics came rushing through the door seconds later. Sam stumbled back from the bed as they ran towards him. "Is he breathing?" one of them asked; as he put the bag that he was carrying, down on the bed, ripping it open to reach inside.

"Yes, he is. But he wasn't before."

"How long was he down?"

"Ah, minutes. I think. It felt longer. He had a pulse though, just wasn't breathing."

"Did you breathe for him?"

"Yes…"

"What's his name?"

"Dean. Dean Smith."

The paramedics finally set to work, checking Dean's heartbeat and attaching a series of wires to his chest and neck, so that they could monitor him closely. Calling out to him as they shook his shoulders, "Dean. Dean, can you hear me?"

"What happened?" the paramedic closest to Sam asked him without looking up.

"He told me he fell down a set of stairs. I wasn't there, so I… I didn't see it."

"Did it happen this morning?" the other paramedic asked as he cut Dean's shirt open. His face paled as he took in the deep bruise down Dean's right side; straight away, he was on the radio, attached to his shoulder, calling in that his patient had internal injuries and would need surgery immediately.

"This morning. Did it happen this morning?" the paramedic repeated the question.

"No. Last night."

"Did he tape up his own chest?"

"No. I did. We thought his ribs might be cracked. There was no bruising then. Not like that." Sam was starting to panic; he tried to remain calm.

"Was there anything else?" When Sam failed to respond again, the paramedic yelled, "Hey, buddy. We are trying to save his life. Need some help. Was there anything else? Did he have any other injuries?"

"He hit his head. Hard. I thought he might be concussed. But that was it, he walked in here. Nothing else seemed to be broken." As Sam was speaking, the other paramedic had left the room and returned shortly with a gurney; they loaded Dean up and wheeled him out of the room, the machine he was attached to beeping steadily. "Can I come?" Sam asked as they wheeled his brother past him.

"Sure." The paramedic replied as he jumped into the back of the ambulance, indicating that Sam should follow suit.

The drive to the hospital happened fast, sirens blaring the whole way. In what was only minutes, but seemed like hours to Sam, they quickly pulled into the emergency bay. As the door on the back of the ambulance was opened, the machine's beeping changed pitch, escalating rapidly, the lines moving erratically across the screen, "He's coding." the paramedic yelled to the people outside.

"Out. Now." one of the men in scrubs yelled at Sam and the paramedic, both exited the back of the vehicle quickly. The guy in the scrubs jumped in and started pumping Dean's heart with CPR. Sam's face crumbled as he realised his brother's heart had stopped. "I've got it. Let's get him out." yelled the guy who was now straddled across Dean's chest, pumping rhythmically ensuring that Dean's blood continued to move around his body.

Once the gurney was out of the ambulance, they rolled it inside and disappeared down a hallway; a nurse stopped Sam, telling him that he would have to wait here, only patients were allowed past this point.

Sam started pacing, back and forth. He kept trying Castiel, first telling him where he and Dean were now and then pleading with him to turn up. Eventually, Sam started praying to anyone who was listening, but nobody came. Sam consented to life-saving surgery when the nurse asked; yelling at her when she asked if there were any requests not to resuscitate, especially if there was a chance that Dean might end up in a vegetative state. As she left, Sam punched the wall, putting a large dent in it and only serving to hurt himself in the meantime.

Hours passed.

People came and went, in the emergency waiting room.

Sam paced back and forth, racking up miles worth of steps, but not making himself feel any better.

It was late afternoon when a doctor appeared in the waiting room asking, "Mr Smith?"

Sam was so busy he didn't hear the call, or more likely in his stressed-out state he didn't realise they were asking for him. "Mr Smith?" the doctor called, more loudly this time. Sam realised he was looking at him and a split second later he remembered that that was the name he had used for Dean. "Yes." he replied; suddenly he was unable to move, frightened that the doctor only had bad news for him.

The doctor walked slowly over to Sam.

Looking him up and down he said, "Your brother is out of surgery. It was touch and go, but we stopped the bleeding and he is in a critical but stable condition. He has lost a lot of blood."

Sam finally caught his breath. Looking up at the ceiling, he silently thanked the universe, knowing, full well that Chuck probably had nothing to do with the miracle that had just transpired. "Can I see him?" Sam asked, softly rubbing the hand he had injured when he hit the wall.

"Only if you let me fix up that hand first?" the doctor stated, as he saw that Sam was hurt.

Sam agreed and the pair walked away, down the same hall that they had taken Dean down. Once his arm was in plaster, a nurse took Sam to the private room where Dean lay amidst a series of machines, tubes and IV bags. "Dean…" he cried softly as he made his way over to the chair by the side of the bed.

"He's unconscious. Probably will be for a while." the nurse told him, "I'll get you a blanket and some water. There is a vending machine at the end of the corridor, it doesn't have much but it should see you through the night until the cafeteria opens in the morning."

"I can stay?"

"Yes. The doctor said to let you stay. Your brother is in a bad way and listed as critical. The doctor thinks it will be better if you stay here for the night."

Fear rolled down Sam's back; the nurse's comments had him wondering if the doctor hadn't sugar-coated Dean's condition. He reached out taking Dean's hand in his own. "I'm here." He whispered to his brother, "Don't you dare leave me…"

Sam settled back into the chair, to wait.

The big hand chased the small hand around the clock, silently catching and overtaking it, time and, time again.

The lights dimmed; nurses came and went.

The lights brightened; different nurses came and went.

So too, did a small team of doctors, who discussed internal injuries and complications that surgery may bring.

Sam sat.

Waiting.

Praying.

While nobody listened.

When the big hand, had caught the small one, over thirty times, things changed.

"Sammy?" came the groan from the bed.

Dean was awake.

Sam leaned over him, "Dean?" he asked quietly, not sure if he had just imagined the voice, because Dean lay as still as he had for all those hours just gone; his eyes closed, a relaxed look on his face.

"You took me to the hospital?" Dean's head rolled to the left, eyes opening slowly, blinking in the harsh light, until they focussed on the one thing they wanted to see, right now. Sam.

"Dean…" Sam said; an apology with a hint of I told you so, "You were bleeding internally. You were going to die."

"Did… die!"

"What? How do you know?"

"Saw Billie…" Sam shook his head, of course, Dean would have seen the reaper when his heart stopped in the back of the ambulance, "What did she say?" he asked Dean.

"Nothing… Just stared at me. I'm gonna go with, she was pissed… to see me… and then, she wasn't there anymore…"

Sam let out a small laugh, he didn't find it funny, he was just so relieved and that's how he had to express it. Hearing Sam laugh, Dean had a chuckle too, until the pain swept over him and his body went rigid, trying to not, let it run him down. "Dean?" Sam cried, worried for his brother, "I'll call a doctor…" he added as he reached for the call button.

"Sammy…" Dean croaked again, through clenched teeth as his breath came in short gasps, "S'ok…" he mumbled, slowly his breathing returned to normal as he added, "Just don't make me laugh…" trying to turn the grimace into a smile.

Sam nodded, anything, he would do anything for his brother. "What happened at the factory?" Dean finally asked when he felt everything return to the post-surgery normal.

"They found the security guard." Sam started, then shaking his head at the implied question in Dean's eyes, he explained, "Harper, said he drowned and it gets worse… there was no water on site. Nothing. Police are understandably baffled, but the good news is, they won't let the developers back in at all now and no court hearing is going to change that."

"Harper was here?"

"Yeah. When the security guard turned up dead, she panicked and called the motel. The manager told her an ambulance had come that morning and she turned up here."

"How long was I out?"

"Almost two days…"

"Geez…" Dean was amazed at how long he had been out and he immediately understood that the time held greater implications, "Cass?"

"I called. I prayed… There's been nothing… I don't know Dean, something must have happened to him…"

"Or I just don't warrant saving?"

"Dean… Don't say things like that. Of course, you warrant saving."

"And yet, here we are…"

Sam, who bowed his head low, greeted Dean's conclusion with great dismay. He tried to shake the feeling off, but he found himself getting angry instead. Not with Dean, but with Castiel, with the angels and with God. Dean realising something had just changed in his brother's demeanour, tried desperately to avert Sam's focus, "What about the research?" Sam looked up, blinking at Dean as if he had just asked him to dance or something equally stupid; rage was all he could see right now. "You did research… didn't you? Or have you just spent the last two days moping around?"

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, snapping out of his previous thoughts he retorted, "Of course… and there was nothing, other than what Harper told us and you already confirmed. There was nothing on the site before the factory and just the one death since then. You said you saw three different spirits, I saw two, but they could have been the same ones you saw."

Dean screwed his face up, Sam immediately tensed up thinking the worst, "Dean… do you want a doctor?" Dean shook his head, no, "I just feel… like there is something I should be remembering… but I can't put my finger on it…" he was struggling with his words, his breathing slightly laboured again; the pain meds must have been wearing off. Right on cue, a nurse came in stating, "Time for some more… Oh…" she saw Dean was awake on the bed, "you're awake… I'll just get the doctor." and then she turned abruptly and walked from the room… "Sammy…" Dean grabbed Sam's arm, "there is something I need to remember, something about what happened… but… I… can't…" Dean was getting frustrated and agitated now; a sweat broke out across his forehead. Sam tried to reassure him that it would be all right, that he would remember it in time, that he had to calm down, but for some reason, he could not.

The doctor arrived and immediately ordered the nurse to give him a sedative; Dean was now very agitated and clutching at his head, obviously in some pain. When Dean heard the doctor's order, he started to get more vocal and tried to get out of the bed, yelling and carrying on about having work to do and that they couldn't keep him there. The doctor tried to subdue Dean, but even in his weakened state, Dean was able to throw him off. In the end, it was Sam, tears welling up in his eyes, who held his brother down, while the nurse administered the sedative. All the time Dean was begging for them not to put him back under. He had to remember, he cried over and over again, even as the drugs took effect he continued to repeat the words, but it was as if someone was turning the volume down on him.

"We need an MRI. Now." the doctor barked at the nurse.

As they wheeled Dean out of the room, all Sam could do was look on. Frustrated at feeling so helpless; he had all but given up on Castiel and God.

Two hours passed before the bought Dean back to the room. He was still unconscious and accompanied by the doctor; Sam had a sudden feeling of unease.

"What's wrong?" Sam jumped on the doctor as he entered the room. The startled doctor took a moment to regain his composure as the nurse hooked Dean back up to all the machines in the room. When she was finished, she silently left the room without looking at Sam; now he knew something was seriously wrong.

"Perhaps you should have a seat." the doctor began.

"I don't want a seat. Just tell me what it is."

"Ok… Ok… I don't know how to say this…" the doctor absent-mindedly put his right hand over his mouth, squeezing gently on either side of his face, before dragging his hand down and cupping his chin. Looking back at Sam, he began, "There are some lesions on Dean's brain. That just simply shouldn't be there."

"Lesions?"

"Yes. Lesions. It looks… though it isn't, shouldn't be… possible… but it looks like someone has applied electrodes to your brother's brain that have caused damage. A lot of damage."

"What does that mean? What are you going to do for him?"

The doctor sighed, he moved to reach out to Sam, but Sam stepped back, afraid of what the doctor was going to say next.

"I'm sorry, son. There isn't anything that we can do. This isn't something that can be fixed. This type of damage… it is permanent. If Dean wakes up, and that is a big if, he will most likely be in a vegetative state." the doctor watched Sam closely, scanning for signs of shock, ready to help him as needed.

Sam, for his part, kept it together. His breathing accelerated slightly and became heavier as he tried to hold back the tears; he was also trying to stop himself from taking the doctor and smashing him into the wall. How could this have happened? Black spots started to appear before Sam's eyes, as the room started slowly spinning. The doctor reached out to him, but Sam shook him off; muttering something about needing air, Sam shoved passed the doctor and ran from the room. He ran the length of the hall, barrelling into the door to the stairs, unable, to even contemplate standing still and waiting for an elevator. As he took the stairs, two at a time, he remembered the last set of stairs he had run down, running to help his brother. Now he was running away. Running from the horror that was in that room. Sam made it to the gutter in the parking lot before doubling over and retching. He had not eaten for hours, too worried for his brother, but his body still tried to expel the objects that were causing his gut so much pain. If only it were that simple.

Images and memories of Dean over the last few days, and then, the last few weeks, and months, flew through Sam's mind. The bitumen in front of him, blended in with the dark sky as the two swirled and swirled. The motion made Sam feel even sicker. Eventually, shock took over and Sam collapsed onto the edge of the gutter. For such a tall man, he seemed to occupy the smallest of spaces in that moment. Huddled over, hugging his legs, trying to find the reason.

A tap on his shoulder, brought him back to reality quickly as he sprung to his feet in a defensive position. He was glad that he hadn't struck out when he saw who was standing in front of him.

Billie.

"What the…"

Instead of answering, Billie just reached out and touched Sam on the shoulder again. Suddenly he found himself in the middle of a street, in the middle of nowhere. Sam's mind could not comprehend what had happened; Billie still stood in front of him, an annoyed look on her face, staring at him.

"Time's ticking…" was somehow her way of explanation.

"I don't understand…" Sam blurted out as Billie disappeared. Sam's mouth opened, as he stared in disbelief at the road in front of him. What was he supposed to do now? Why had she brought him here? What did she…

"Sammy…"

Sam spun around to see Dean, standing in front of him. "Dean?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah… We don't have a lot of time, so, listen up. The spirits are trapped; that is what I was trying to remember. When I fell, I was thrown away from the bottom of the stairs, but the ghosts did not come near me. They could not move, I am sure of it… The girl ghost even asked me to save her. There must have been a building, before the factory. I know… I know…" he said trying to shush his brother's interruption. "All the history says that nothing was there, but what if they didn't want it recorded. Like it was, that, bad…" again he looked at his brother, trying to warn him that time was slipping away, "Maybe a serial killer. Or maybe it just… I KNOW… I KNOW… just a second…" Dean was looking past Sam as he yelled the last few words. Sam spun around but he didn't see and nor had he heard anyone say anything. All of sudden Dean was talking, really, fast, "It doesn't matter; they're trapped. Find the kill zone and then you need to…" Dean's body started to lose its form, kind of smoking away, looking down Dean started to panic realising he hadn't finished what he wanted to say, his final whispered word, as he disappeared completely, didn't help Sam at all, "Missouri…"


	12. Chapter 12

"Dean…" Sam yelled, reaching out to grab his brother as he faded away; but he was gone. While he spun around, the landscape dissolved and Sam found himself standing back in the gutter of the hospital carpark. "What the…" Sam was struggling to believe what had just happened, 'how did Dean convince Billie to help him?" was the first thought that came to his mind, and the thoughts did not stop there; Missouri, what is there? It cannot be a serial killer, can it? Find the kill zone, what the hell does that mean?

Sam tossed the ideas around in his head, he had almost forgotten about his brother lying upstairs, almost, but not completely. That stress was still there; bubbling under the surface, just waiting for Sam to relapse into those all controlling thoughts; then it would pounce and bring him undone completely. Sam could not would not, let that happen. He had to solve this, this, mission that Dean had given him. Then it dawned on him, "Dammit…" he yelled to the carpark as he took off in the direction of the Impala.

Sam drove like a madman, taking corners hard and fast, the tyres screaming their consent; they were getting a little action, after all, and a car like that, needs action. In no time at all Sam arrived at his destination, he was out of the car and running up the garden path, he banged hard on the door and kept banging until it was opened.

Harper stood looking at Sam, waiting for him to explain the non-stop knocking. "Do you still want to help?" he asked breathlessly, after his sprint through the garden. Harper nodded, "Right. This way." Sam started running back through the garden, Harper not knowing the urgency of the situation started walking behind him, "Hurry…" he yelled from the car; the intensity of that command made her speed up.

Once she was in the car, Sam gunned the engine and they were off. The car racing through the deserted streets, toward the factory. "Sam, you are going to have to explain to me what's happening. Is Dean ok?"

"No…" he answered.

Harper sat in stunned silence; it was not clear from Sam's answer, what he was talking about; No, I will not explain to you, or, No Dean is not ok. The way he had barked the word, frightened her and she was not sure she could, or should, ask for clarification. Eventually, the silence, and not knowing, got the better of her and she asked anyway.

"No… Dean is not ok. He's dying and we have to change that." Sam explained the situation to her. Harper already knew what had happened the night they went to check the factory out, but she did not know about Billie and what had happened since Dean had woken up.

"So, you think Dean has this ghost sickness?"

"Yes… it explains why he suddenly has these lesions on his brain. He's had it before, but that time he suffered from extreme fear, sort of what the ghost who made him sick was suffering from when he was killed."

"So, the ghost that threw him down the stairs… made him sick?"

"I think so. I don't know. Truth is… it could be any of them; he might have come into contact with another one."

"So how do we find which ghost?"

"We don't. It wouldn't matter anyway if we knew which ghost it was, because if Dean is right and these people were killed by a serial killer, then they are most likely buried under the factory, and those foundations are way too thick for us to get through."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because we would want to salt and burn the bones, remember? That's how you get rid of spirits."

Harpers face switched from confusion to sudden realisation, "And if Dean is right, then the bones are under the factory and we can't get to them."

"Right."

"Then what do we do?"

Sam looked over at Harper as he drove; turning his head back to the road, he explained Dean's theory, "Dean thinks the spirits are trapped in a zone. That they don't have full run of the factory. Most likely there was a building on the land beforehand that nobody knew about, except maybe the killer, or the killer had a particular area where he would kill and because of that these spirits are trapped there."

"But what does that mean for us?" Harper was straight back where she had started; confused.

"It means we need to find the zone. We need to know exactly where they can, and can't go. Essentially, we need to map out the area they are linked to."

"Because?"

"Because we need to do a spell. Dean mentioned Missouri to me, at first I thought he meant the place, but then I remembered Missouri was a psychic who helped us try to rid poltergeists from a home, way back when."

"And this Missouri is going to help us now."

"No… But, we can hijack her spell and use it to rid the spirits, seeing as we don't have any bones to burn. First, we need to put a spell in place, to ensure the spirits do not come back to the building. That is why I need you. We need to set both spells at the four boundaries, North, South, East and West, of both the factory and the killing zone if this has any chance of working." Sam paused.

Harper broke the silence. "And does it… have a chance?"

"I don't know…" was all Sam would commit to, shaking his head as he tried to remain positive. This was definitely a long shot. First, it depended on Dean being right, which was possible. Then, it depended on Sam remembering the spell and making the right changes to the ingredients so that it would have a chance at expelling the ghosts, as well as not allowing them back. Of course, the first time they had done this, it had not worked at all. In the end, his mom's ghost had taken the poltergeist down. Next, they actually had to find the boundaries of Dean's so-called kill zone and actually say the spell. Yep. Things were not looking so good, but Sam realised this was Dean's only chance and he would just have to make it work. Some way.

Once they were at the factory, Sam took some time to re-write the spell and had Harper get everything they needed from the boot as he assembled the spell bags on the bonnet. Once he had the first four bags ready, he spoke to Harper, "Just pull back on this, aim, and pull the trigger. Reload like this. They're salt rounds, it won't kill a ghost but it will give you some time to run." Sam explained, as he first showed Harper how to shoot and reload and then handed her the gun. "I also need you to place these," he added as he handed Harper the spell bags, "In each of the four boundaries of the factory. Walk around the boundaries on the outside, and then make your way inside. This way you should stay away from the kill zone. You need to put the bags inside the walls. So you'll need this." Sam pulled a sledgehammer from the boot. "They need to stay in there for good. So decide where to put your hole and then throw the bags into the cavity, away from the hole, so that it is less likely someone will discover them and remove them later. You got it?" Harper nodded; as she took the bags and hammer from Sam, she turned to walk away, but Sam called out to her "Harper." Harper spun on the spot and looked at him expectantly, "Call, if you need me!" and after a split second he added, "Good luck."

Harper took off. Sam wished her well in his thoughts, almost praying for her safety; though he was convinced, nobody was listening to that. Sam was not even sure that she could avoid the kill zone; they had no choice but to try.

Sam finished the other four bags and taking a can of spray paint from the boot, along with his shotgun, flashlight and plenty of salt rounds, he made his way into the factory, to play a little game of chicken with some ghosts. Sam was going to start where he had found Dean unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. Dean had said that the ghosts had not made a move on him because they were stuck, so, as a starting place, it seemed logical.

Sam slowed down, as he moved past the spot where he had found Dean, he had to get this right. Any second now, a ghost should appear and he had to be…

Smack.

Sam went flying before sprawling out on the concrete.

The ghost had hit him from behind.

The wind knocked from his lungs, he rolled over, still clutching the shotgun.

Aim.

Fire.

Smoked.

Sam, still winded, struggled to his feet, only to be knocked down again.

'No fair' he thought wildly as his elbows took the force of the fall, the gun slipped from his hands and bounced away in front of him, as a well-aimed kick smashed into his ribcage.

The force of the blow rolled Sam over so that he was now on his back and looking up at the spirit, struggling for breath; Sam started to shimmy backwards on his hands and feet. The ghost slowly followed as if it were enjoying some kind of game.

Sam's right hand suddenly came down on the gun and he grasped it quickly; swinging it around before it smashed into his left hand, which held the position as his trigger finger let a round loose.

Smoked.

Another spirit immediately appeared behind the smoke and started advancing on Sam; the gun was empty he had to reload; instead, he rose quickly and made a dash for it.

After a few seconds, it dawned on Sam that he was still running. Ghosts were much faster than humans were; so why wasn't he on the ground again, or worse.

Sam stopped running and spun around; at the same time, he reached for two more rounds and releasing the shotgun, he ejected the spent rounds and replaced the cartridges.

He needn't have bothered.

As he looked back, he could clearly see that the ghost was standing still.

Sam smiled.

Dean was right.

Sam walked back over to the ghost; a short young female, or at least it had been once. The ghost did not attempt to come at him and Sam used the spray can to mark out the edge of the kill zone, as well as place a spell bag before he took off to repeat the whole process on the right side and the front of the factory.

Sam was now looking for the final edge of the zone. It had to be somewhere in the middle of the factory. He had been walking around aimlessly for a few minutes now. Just waiting for another spirit to appear when his phone rang.

"You ok?" he asked by way of answer.

"Yeah, fine." came Harper's breathy reply, "I just put the last bag in the wall. Where are you? I'll come to you."

"No…" Sam replied without even thinking, "You're done here. Go back to the car and wait for me."

"Sam…" Harper started to speak but Sam cut her off, "I mean it, Harper. I need to know you are safe. I can't do this and worry about you. Please. Just go."

"Ok… Be safe…" Harper pleaded before she hung up.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief before he put the phone back in his pocket. As he walked, Sam started to think through the plan again. Obviously, he still needed to find the final edge and then he had to say the spells before…

There was a spirit standing just a few feet in front of Sam.

It was not moving.

It was just standing and staring at him.

Sam raised his gun, getting it ready to shoot if the spirit charged, but nothing happened.

Could it be on the edge of the zone, Sam thought to himself. Well, there was only one way to find out, so Sam started to advance on the ghost.

It did not move.

Sam took each step cautiously.

Still, the ghost stood still.

When Sam was almost within arm's reach of the spirit, he decided that this was the edge of the zone; raising the shotgun, he fired and the ghost dissipated. Sam took the final steps and bent down marking the zone; just as he was about to place the spell bag, he was yanked from his feet.

The gun went flying into the kill zone.

Sam started to crawl for it; that gun was his only chance.

The spirit grabbed Sam by his jacket, just as his hand made contact with the gun. By some stroke of luck, Sam managed to grab the gun, as the spirt spun him around through the air. The ghost released Sam moments later and he flew, smacking hard into the concrete ground, before rolling furiously as he tried to get further away. Sam was almost back out of the zone. He scurried, hurriedly, on all fours, away from the ghost. Just as his upper body had cleared the zone, the ghost latched on to his ankle and dragged him, savagely, back into the zone.

Sam struggled to free himself, viciously kicking out with his other foot, but nothing helped. Realising he still had the gun, Sam tried to flip himself over instead, rolling quickly to his right, his ankle twisting uncomfortably in the spirits grasp. Sam lifted the gun and when the spirit came into his sights…

Bang.

Smoked.

Sam slumped to the floor.

Spent.

When he had his breath back, Sam took a moment to work out where he was. Sam thought he was about fifty feet into the kill zone. Looking back to the edge, he could see three spirits there, waiting.

Looked like they had finally realised what he was trying to do.

How was he going to get out of this one?

To hell with it, Sam thought, as he stood slowly, facing the spirits.

The spell bag lay just behind them.

Sam hoped it was close enough to the kill zone, to work.

Fingers crossed, Sam started chanting the spell. Within seconds, the spirits realised what was happening and they charged at him. Sam started speaking faster as his voice got louder. The air inside the kill zone started to spiral; dust and debris started to fly through the air, as the wind picked up.

The first spirit took the salt round and dusted out.

Sam continued his spell.

The second smashed into Sam, barrelling him backwards through the air.

Sam only stopped chanting for a second, grunting as he smashed into the ground before he continued the spell.

Another ghost came in and picked Sam up by his jacket, before trying to wrap his hands around Sam's throat; throttling him would ensure the spell could not be finished, but Sam just managed to get his fingers in between the ghosts hand and his own throat.

Sam fought hard, chanting as he did so, though it was in short three or four-word chunks as he fought for his breath and, fought for his life.

The spell was nearly finished.

But then… the thug of a spirit came up behind the fighting pair and kicked out; striking hard at the back of Sam's leg, hitting him directly behind his knee.

Sam's legs buckled as he let out a strangled scream; the pain causing him to see little stars, the edge of darkness attempting to take him out.

The ghost that had Sam by the jacket lost his grasp and Sam slipped from his clutches, crumbling to the ground. It was here, that he managed to say the last to words, "terminus eius".

As the final words rang out through the empty room, the swirling air came to an abrupt end, and an eerie silence fell over the factory floor. The spirits stopped, looking at each other and then down at Sam who was lying on the floor, barely conscious.

Without any warning a bright yellow light rose from the floor, Sam rolled away from it, shielding his eyes. The ghosts tried to move away from it as well, but instead, it trapped them with its power. The light seemed to tear at them, breaking them apart piece by piece and pulling them up and away. Before long, the light completely obliterated the spirits, before it seemed to fall back down to the earth, swallowed up by the concrete from where it had come.

Sam, sensing the sudden change at the lights demise, rolled over on to his back. Looking around him for danger, he quickly realised there was none and as relief flooded through him, so too did the darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

**_hey - thanks for visiting - sorry I took so long to write this next chapter - I'll get quicker :) Enjoy!_**

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Chapter 13

"Dean…" a smile spread across Dean's face at the sight of his brother entering the hospital room; the doctor, who was standing beside Dean's bed, spun around to face the newcomer.

"Sammy…" Dean replied as his brother walked into the room.

"You're ok?" Sam asked him; Dean was sitting up in the bed, he still looked a little pale but most of the machines were gone and only a heart monitor and one IV bag remained.

Dean nodded, the smile never leaving his face, "He seems to be doing fine. We are all, completely baffled; he simply should not be in this state? Woke up about an hour ago, nothing wrong, besides the initial chest injury. It's a miracle!" the doctor offered his thoughts, first eyeing Sam and then the girl that walked in behind him, "You're hurt." the doctor added, as he looked Sam over. It was a statement, more than a question. Sam's face was bruised and battered; there were small cuts all over his face that he had tried to clean up, and he walked in a way that clearly favoured his left leg.

"I'm ok…" Sam said to the doctor, walking straight past him, to get to his brother, "Even better now… seeing that you are too…" he said to Dean.

"You did it…"

"Nah… We did…"

The boys looked at each other, all smiles.

"Me too…" chimed Harper, and all three gave nervous laughs of relief.

Harper left the hospital a couple of hours later, but only after she made the boys promise that they would stop in at her place before they left.

"Cass?" Dean asked minutes after Harper had gone.

"Nothing…" Sam shook his head; he did not know what to say. Castiel had been missing in action for days now; he had been absent when the boys had needed him the most. This was not like Castiel and both boys sat, silently wondering what had happened to him; because if there was anything that they knew for sure right now, it was that something had happened to Castiel. What that was, they could not say, but it definitely was not good.

"There is something I want to know?"

"Yeah, what?"

"How did you get Billie to help you?" Sam asked, breaking Dean free from his morbid thoughts about Castiel.

"Challenged her to a game."

"Of what?"

"Paper, rock, scissors…"

"And you won?" Sam scoffed… disbelief rampant that his brother, Dean, had won a game of paper, rock, scissors.

"Shut up… Bitch…"

"Jerk…"

The doctors kept Dean in the hospital for another day and a bit before he decided to check himself out against doctor's orders. He did, however, spend the next night asleep in Harper's spare room, while Sam slept on the couch after the trio had spent hours talking about Chayse, aka Hope, Bobby and life in general.

The day was bright, as Sam opened the driver's side door to the Impala. He had already said goodbye to Harper and now it was Dean's turn.

"Don't you dare give up?" Harper pleaded to Dean before she moved in to give him a big hug; Dean grimaced a little, the pain of the stitches and broken ribs getting to him; still, he hugged her back.

"I won't…"

The boys had told Harper everything, well, almost everything, they had left out the bit about Hope's soul being trapped somewhere in hell, having glossed over it, explaining, simply, that they had to finish what Hope had started.

Harper released Dean and stood back from him. Dean turned towards the car, opening the door slowly.

Harper added, "You really should find Hope's true love… she should be told, what happened to her…"

Dean's head turned back to Harper, his body following slowly, "Her true love… but I thought…"

Harper shook her head sadly, before admitting, "No… not me…"

"How can you be so sure?"

"It was in her eyes… hell… it was in everything she did. You can't give yourself completely when your heart belongs to someone else. I should know… I've been living that for past ten years…" Harper looked down at the ground, as she finished her sentence; the first time, admitting aloud, that her heart belonged to Hope.

Dean sighed.

So much pain and sadness, amidst love, around one person.

Harper looked up at Dean, a small smile moved across her lips, but not beyond. Dean gave a small smile back, before hopping into the Impala. Sam, gunning the engine softly, pulled the car out onto the road and the pair drove off, leaving Harper to her memories.

Suburbia and the 'normal life' rolled by as the car sped out of town.

"Harper thinks that Hope was in love with someone else?"

"Really…"

The pair had been silent as they had driven out of town, Sam waiting for Dean to start talking, knowing better than to push a conversation that he might not be ready for; Dean, working up the courage to face everything that had happened in Grand Junction.

"She thinks we should find her…"

"And… what do you think?"

"I don't know… Where would we even begin? And besides, haven't we got enough on our plate?"

"Yes, we have." Sam answered Dean's second question, before returning to the first, "but if you were interested… you would start here…"

Sam reached down under the seat and pulled out a journal.

Hope's journal.

He held the journal out for Dean to take.

Dean hesitated.

Sam checked the rear vision mirror, before pulling the car over to the side of the road, leaving the engine running. Still holding the journal, he turned in his seat, to face Dean.

"In the entry about Harper, there are a series of notes in the margins, initials and numbers. I don't know what the numbers are, but I worked out some of the initials. RS. Robert Singer…" Sam paused, watching the understanding dawn on Dean's face, "It's not the first time those initials appear… and it's not the last…" again, Sam held the book out for Dean; this time Dean reached out and took it. "There are other things… other initials, you will find interesting…"

Dean's head whipped up from the journal to look at his brother, but Sam did not give up the information he had gleaned from the journal. "Dean… you need to read it…"

Sam turned back in his seat, again checking the mirror, before pulling the impala out onto the road. Dean's eyes had not moved off of Sam, but realising that he wasn't going to offer up anything else, Dean eventually turned his head back, his eyes dropping to the front of the journal and the scratched out words 'My sonny boy', before he slowly opened to the first page and started reading.

Time passed.

Sam drove.

Dean read.

A world of green and blue smeared by outside; neither boy paying particular attention to it, as beautiful as it was.

One lost in his thoughts.

The other lost in words on a page.

Neither spoke.

The sound of the wind, whipping through the open windows, the only thing they heard.

Until that too died down.

Suddenly, into the silence, one, whispered, word, "Dad…"

Sam's eyes closed.

So…

He had found it too.

Slowly, Sam turned his head towards his brother, who was eagerly waiting for those eyes to reach him; Sam's eyes opened, just as his head reached Dean, all he saw there was a great sadness.

Silence.

Then.

Dean sighed.

Before, "J… E… W…" a whisper, "That's dad…"

Sam bit down on his lower lip, desperate to stow the tears.

"When?"

Sam sighed before answering, "Not that long…" it did not look like Dean believed him, "I swear… When you were in the hospital… I had a lot of time…"

"And you said nothing…"

"Dean…" Sam pleaded with his brother, but Dean had turned to look out the window; it was only now that he realised they were in the car park of a holiday inn.

"Where the hell are we?"

"Limon…"

"Why?"

"The doctor said you shouldn't be in a car for hours on end, Dean… This is halfway home…"

"Screw what the doctor, Sammy…" Dean yelled at his brother.

The car went silent.

Dean was furious.

Furious that they had stopped, when all he wanted was his own bed, back at the bunker; furious that Sam had failed to mention the initials in the journal, but more furious, than anything else, that he knew so little about their sister. That she was dead and that he could not just go and ask her everything that he wanted to know.

The silence lingered until Sam could take it no more.

"Dean… you were hurt, and then… then, you were dying…"

"That was days ago… and what… you wanted me to read it for myself…" Dean was trying to lessen the harsh tone of his voice, he knew it was not Sam's fault, but Sam was all he had to lash out at right now.

"I wasn't sure… I'm still not… Those initials could be anyone's…"

"It's him… You know that… Jericho… Centennial Highway… Come on Sammy…" Dean turned back to look at his brother, "Not only did he know about her… but he met her… He. Met. Her… She was twenty-six… Twenty-six… My god…" the tears fell silently from Dean's eyes. "We were right there… So close… I just… can't…" Dean shook his head, silent as he thought about the first case he and Sam had worked together, all those years ago, when their father went missing. When Dean had bought Sam back into the life.

"I know…" was all Sam managed to say. Dean closed his eyes, his head turning back, before it dropped, his chin on his chest. A chest that rose and fell with silent sobs.

Sam could not bear to watch.

He turned to look back out his window.

They sat like that.

Together.

Yet, alone.

For ages.

In time, Dean's tears dried up and he asked, "Is that it?"

Sam did not want to answer, but he knew exactly what Dean was asking; and the pain that the answers would bring, "No… She mentions him again a few pages on…" Sam stopped unable to find the words. The look on his face, made Dean reach for the journal, flipping forward a few pages until he came across the only thing that he knew, would make Sam act this way.

In the margins.

Seven scrawled letters.

J.E.W. D.W. S.W.

A sharp intake of breath.

A skipped heartbeat.

The book fell from Dean's hands as he read the top of that section; Lawrence, Kansas.

In a flash, Dean was reaching for the handle, shoving the door outwards, desperate to flee the confines of that chunk of metal. Somehow, he managed to ignore the pain that raged at him, screaming for him to stop moving. He moved quickly until he was several feet away from the car; here he stopped suddenly and looked up at the sky, his breathing coming in short ragged gasps.

Sam was out of the car and running for Dean; almost as quickly as Dean had moved. He reached Dean just as he collapsed. "Dean…" he cried, as he slowly lowered him to the ground, having caught him just in time.

Dean held his head in both hands, pain etched across his face; his eyes bloodshot and swiftly moving from side to side as if they were watching some rapid, stop motion, game of tennis.

Sam started to panic, was Dean relapsing? He knew they should never have left the hospital, but would Dean listen to him. No. Sam reached into his pocket for his phone; he was going to ring for another ambulance, when Dean grabbed his hand, forcibly stopping him from dialling, "No…" he pleaded with Sam; one hand still clutched his head, the pain was still etched across his face; Sam wavered, unsure what to do, "No…" Dean was trying desperately to talk to Sam, but something seemed to have a grip on his mind, "Casper…" he pushed the word out between sharp breaths, "We. Need. To. Go. To… Casper." Dean slumped back down, the effort of each word taking its toll on him.

"Dean…" Sam cried out, slowly he started to raise the phone, Dean only had a light hold on him now, so he was free to dial for an ambulance, but Dean's next statement floored him; as the pain finally cleared from Dean's face, his breathing still erratic, Dean whispered, "Sammy… she's gonna die… I saw it… We need to save her…" before he passed out.

There would be, very few things that would make Sam put away his phone, scoop Dean up and put him in the back of the Impala, to head off on a five hour trip to Casper, Wyoming; but Dean's statement, 'I saw it', was one such thing. Sam could only think that the pain Dean was clutching at just now was because he had had a vision. 'She is going to die… I saw it…' and a vision, is definitely something Sam would not ignore, not after everything he had experienced when he went through the same thing all those years ago.

Hours past as Sam drove north.

The sun was just approaching the horizon when Dean stirred on the back seat.

"Dean…" Sam asked after his brother, a slight groan the only reply.

In the rearview mirror, Sam could see Dean struggling to sit up, "You alright? You want me to pull over?" he asked his brother.

"Where are we?" came Dean's gruff reply.

"About an hour out from Casper."

"You listened to me?"

"Yes, Dean. I listened to you. It sounded like you had a vision?"

There was nothing but silence from the back seat of the car; Sam glanced in the rearview mirror again and his eyes locked onto Deans. Dean nodded, only slightly. Not really wanting to admit that he had had a vision.

"What did you see? Exactly?"

"A girl. There was… fifteen or twenty people… and they were surrounding her, hitting out at her… I think they'll kill her…"

"What were they?"

Dean shook his head, trying to remember or to see more clearly, "I don't know… I just… I was… I saw her… I felt her pain… and how scared, she was… I don't know who or what they were… just that it was bad… real bad…"

"Where?"

"Casper."

"I know that, I mean, where in Casper? And how do you know it was Casper?"

Dean's eyes went wide, before closing slowly, his head drooping down towards his chest. He was tired. He was in pain. His head hurt, but he wasn't sure if that was the ass kicking the spirits gave him or the weirdly timed vision he had had hours earlier. How did he know? Dean tried to fight through the pain to find the memory; what had set them down this path?

"I don't know. I just feel that that's right."

"What?"

"Sammy…" Dean cried in exasperation, he was struggling to stay awake, to fight the darkness that was trying to take him, the darkness that whispered at him, pulling him in to a place that was quiet and safe, "I can't explain it…" he finally offered, opening his eyes and looking at Sam in the rearview mirror, "It was like… I was her… Everything was from her point of view. I…" Dean's eyes wandered away from the mirror, as they looked out through the front windscreen, a sigh escaped past his lips, and shaking his head he continued, "I felt what she felt. The people hitting her, the hatred in the room, how scared she was. She was terrified." Dean's voice faltered slightly as he remembered the vision and the girl's feelings. "I know she is in Casper, because… because she knew she was in Casper… I… I don't know how to explain it any better than that…"

Sam glanced back at his brother, worry and fear the two main emotions he was feeling right now. Worried for his brother's health, his brother's mind. Fear that things were about to get ugly if they were able to find this girl and try to stop the vision from coming true. Underneath all that, though, there was also the thought, 'Why Dean? How was Dean connected to this girl? Why had he had the vision and not Sam?'

"Where are we heading to in Casper?"

Dean shook his head, "It was an industrial area. Like a garage or a parts shop… The area was big but dark, no natural light… so... deep in the building…"

Sam shook his head in return; it was not much to go on. It is not as if Casper was huge, but with no address or any concrete place to start, this was the needle in the haystack situation.

The car went silent as Sam continued to drive and Dean slipped back into semi-consciousness. Fighting the darkness; wanting to stay awake, to stay alert to try to find the girl and save her from the fate that awaited her, but at the same time wanting to give in to the security and peace the darkness brought.

As the car approached, the outskirts of Casper, Wyoming, Sam saw a sign that indicated an industrial area was off the highway to the left. He took the exit and slowed the car when he reached the edge of the estate. "Dean…" he called to his brother. When no reply came, he tried again, louder this time in an effort to break through his brother's thoughts, sleep, or both, "Dean…"

"hmmm" came the groggy reply.

"We are here… Do you recognise anything?"

Dean slowly turned to look out through the window at the passing buildings. Nothing looked familiar and nothing was screaming out to him, this, this is it.

Dean shook his head in frustration, as he turned to look back through to the front of the car, "Nothing… there's nothing…"

Sam sighed before he said, "Just relax and try to remember the vision and see if you recognise anything…"

"I told you… it was her… what she was seeing and feeling… I didn't have a vision of what was happening and where it was… I could feel her…" Dean's voice trailed off as he thought about the vision, he closed his eyes, hating the feeling of how scared the girl felt, and all he wanted to do was help her.

Sam had almost driven through the entire estate. They were at its far end, where the buildings were much older and most of the area looked to be somewhat abandoned or at least in a very dilapidated condition. Dean opened his eyes again and yelled suddenly "Stop… Stop the car…"

The building they were parked in front of was indeed an old garage. One that in its prime would have had the capacity to work on up to twenty cars at a time. Dean and Sam exited the car, Sam walking around to the boot while Dean looked over the building. He was sure this was the place; he felt like he had been here before, or, at least she had.

Sam shut the boot and passed Dean his gun and a blade, not sure, what they were going to find in there he was not taking any chances. The boys walked slowly around to the back of the building where they found a small window, the kind that serviced a toilet. The window was ajar and Sam, seeing this, pushed the dumpster over so that he could climb up and through the window.

Once inside, Sam checked that all was clear and then called out for Dean to follow. Together the boys then entered the main part of the garage, following the pool of light their torches made on the ground in front of them.

"This is it…" Dean said as he walked around the open space where the cars were once serviced a long time ago. "This is where it goes down…"

"Right!" Sam replied, "So we stake out the place and wait for it all to go down or do we want to take a…" Sam's voice trailed off as he realised that Dean was not listening to a word he was saying, instead, he was walking away from him in the direction of a small opening in the wall that would have been just wide enough for a vehicle to drive through. Sam slowly walked after his brother.

"No. no. no…" Dean cried as he rounded the corner; the sudden cry and anguish in Dean's voice made Sam run after his brother.

In the middle of the next room, barely visible in the light from the boy's flashlights, lay a large bench with a cage over the top of it. The bench was barely wide enough for the body of the girl that lay in the cage; her arms splayed out to the sides, through the bars. Dean stood, frozen in time, unable to move forward, unable to back away, "No…" he repeated over, and over again.

"Is that her?" Sam asked his brother, but Dean was miles away lost in his mind, unable to hear his brother's question, "Dean…" Sam yelled at him, shaking his shoulders until Dean's eyes blinked and finally focussed on Sam's. "Dean…" Sam said more calmly, "Is that her?"

"Yes… but I don't understand, Sammy…"

Dean shook his head from side to side, while Sam still stood there squeezing his brothers shoulders, trying to keep him calm, "Why would I see the vision if she was already… if she was…" Dean just shook his head, unable to finish the sentence and point out that the girl they had come to save now lay on a wooden bench, dead. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried desperately to block out what was in front of him, but all he found in the darkness now was the frightened thoughts of the girl as she faced her attackers and their relentless blows. Dean's eyes flew open, unable now to find any comfort in the darkness.

"Dean?" Sam asked; Dean looked up into his brother's eyes, "I'm good…" he finally managed, shaking his brother's hands off of his shoulders, "I'm good…" he repeated, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

Dean moved over towards the cage, his flashlight reflecting off the bars in the spots that were not as rusty as the rest of it. Sam walked up behind his brother, his torch moving slowly over the girl's body, before coming to rest on her arms, the marks he saw there making his eyes go wide, "Vampire bites" he exclaimed. Suddenly alert to the possibility of a new danger, Sam's eyes scanned the room, while Dean focussed on the bites, "My God… these bites are old, hours old… I don't understand… the vision should have let us stop this, but it's… it's more like I saw it as it was happening… What is the point of that?"

Dean was not really asking the question of his brother, but Sam answered anyway, "I don't know, Dean. I don't know why you had the vision, if not to try to help…" Sam turned back to the girl, finally convinced that the room was clear and that there was no imminent threat of vampire attack. Looking over the girl's arms he thought he could make out several different bite marks; it looked like a nest of vampires had attacked her, "You think they were vampires? The ones that were attacking her?"

"I don't know… Maybe… but they were hitting her, and tearing at her with their hands, not trying to bite her… and when was the last time we saw fifteen or twenty vampires together, going after…"

"Dean…" Sam's cry interrupted his brother's speech, Dean turned to look at Sam, but his eyes were focussed on the girl's arm, "She moved…" Dean's eyes flicked over to the girl's hand and sure enough, just as his eyes focussed on her, her hand twitched slightly, making a fist, the kind that indicated its owner was in pain.

Things happened very quickly then, Dean reached out for the girl's hand and the cage at the exact same moment that the danger of the situation dawned on Sam.

"Dean, NO!"

Sam yelled at his brother, just as his hand grazed the bar nearest the girl's hand; a sharp blue light filled the small space as the burn of white-hot electricity spilt through the air. Dean's body flew back through the air, smashing into the ground several meters away. The girl's body arched up off the bench, as the electricity pulsed through her body, unable to move further, constrained by the cage. Sam stood still, the electricity having missed him; the bright light, however, had blinded his eyes. After a few hazy minutes, his vision returned and he quickly turned, calling out to his brother as he made his way over to Dean's unmoving, crumpled body.

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 _ **More to come...**_


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